


To The Stars

by Fyre



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Complete, Galaxy Quest AU, with bonus meta for Star Trek TOS and TNG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26328892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: In 1999, a television programme aired that would quickly become a cult classic. 20 years on, join the crew of the NSS Galaxy Quest as they embark on the most exciting adventure of their lives.Galaxy Quest AU- Update schedule - every Sunday
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 358
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here's the thing. I am very, very weak.

The roar from the auditorium was wild.

“I can’t believe,” Anathema growled through her teeth, stalking across the green room floor. Hell, not even a greenroom. Barely more than a cordoned off section backstage. “He _knew_ what time we were meant to be here!” She whipped around to glare at the… God only knew what he was. “You. Tech guy! Call him again!”

“Um. I’m Newt – Newton.” The gangly runner held up his cellphone. For some reason, he was wearing a uniform identical to theirs. It was kinda over the top, but hey, Tadfield Comic Con were paying well enough. Let them dress up whoever they wanted. “And my battery died,” he added apologetically.

“Aye? Yer battery, y’say?”

Newt frowned, looking at his phone, then back at the speaker. “It looks like it.”

Shadwell, a hairy, smelly, scruffy mess of a Scotsman who hadn’t worked a day since they were taken off the air, nodded as if he knew what he was talking about. “It’ll be them.”

“Them?” Newt asked.

“Oh God…” Anathema groaned, sinking down in a chair.

“Aye, laddie!” The manic gleam was in Shadwell’s eyes and he wagged a finger towards the sky. “ _Them_.”

The runner shot Anathema a panicked and bewildered look. “I don’t follow? Angels?”

“ _Aliens_ , laddie!” Shadwell exclaimed. “In their wee ships, abducting respectable folk! Brainwashing us! Stealing out technology for their own nefarious needs!”

“Er,” said the bewildered Newt. “I’m pretty sure I just forgot to charge it last night.

But Shadwell was off and running and Anathema could only bury her face in her hand as he powered on to the usual tangents of probes and experimentation and ‘heathen ways’. Apart from beer and chips, it was the only thing he ever got excited about, which was ironic given he’d worked on a god damned science-fiction show about space travel with cast members playing aliens all around him. Preparing for infiltration, he called it.

“Um. Right.” Newt cleared his throat when Shadwell ran out of steam and fished into his chip packet again. “If it helps, I’d already left him four voicemails. He stopped answering my calls three days ago.”

“Of course he did,” Anathema groaned theatrically, slumping in the chair, wishing to hell that she’d ignored her agent and refused to come. A snort of mirth made her scowl across the table. “ _What_?”

“Aye, an’ ye say ye’re no like yer nan.” Shadwell shook his grizzled head and brushed some chip crumbs off of his greasy uniform, then belched. “Mr. Crowley’ll be here soon enough. He’d never miss a showing.”

“Unless there’s something ‘cooler’ to do.” The morose voice spoke from behind the one make-up table in the room.

“He _did_ say something about another gig tomorrow morning,” Newt offered.

“He said _what_?” Shadwell puffed up indignantly. “That cheeky bugger! He never said anything to me.”

“They want the Captain,” the voice grumbled behind the mirror. “Mr. Oh Look At How Dashing And Debonair I Am! I’ll just save your damsels and look all swash-buckling while I do it.”

Anathema raised her eyes ceilingwards. “So what if he has another gig? He’s an _actor_.” She leaned sideways, trying to see around the frame of the mirror. “You about done, Ez?”

“Dinnae ask him that!” Shadwell yelped.

“Done?” The morose voice rose in pitch. “I’m sitting backstage in a-a-a-a _conference_ centre, gluing kitchen foil on my face and rubber on my ears to display myself to a pack of baying obsessives who can’t seem to grasp that I’m not a bloody alien!”

“Oh Christ,” Shadwell moaned.

Brushes clattered and spilled across the desk as Ezra Fell rose up from behind the mirror like the groundhog. Fluffy white hair wisped upwards like a cloud of feathers over the man’s soft gold-flecked face, which had twisted in some combination of anger, frustration and embarrassment. “I played Hamlet at the Globe–”

“Here we go, wi’ the five curtain calls,” Shadwell grumbled.

Ezra scowled at him and continued, “Yes, five curtain calls! I had a reputation! A name! And _this_ is my life now, for Heaven’s sake! I think it’s safe to say I’m well and truly _done_!”

Anathema blinked slowly at him over her glasses. “Uh… I meant your make-up.”

Under the white make-up and gold scales, Ezra blushed, his silvery contact lenses making his eyes seem huge. “Er. Oh.” He touched his sharp-tipped ear prosthetic, which didn’t even wobble. “Yes.”

Anathema rubbed her forehead. She got it, she really did, but she must’ve pissed someone off in a past life to be left wrangling people who seemed to forget they were meant to be professionals. _Go on_ , her grandma had told her, _it’s easy money. You may even enjoy yourself._

Grandma could have come herself. Plenty of people would’ve been happy to have her around, but she always used the old ‘the studio’ excuse. Or the ‘I’m retired, love’ excuse. Or ‘they may like science-fiction, but they’re less keen on what gravity and time do to a woman’.

And so Anathema was surrounded by a bunch of mid-life crises and testosterone and, apparently, not a single braincell between them.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Ezra mumbled, edging out from behind the make-up table. “You know what these events do for my nerves, especially when he can’t even be bothered to show up.”

“Who can’t be bothered?”

Anathema twisted in her seat to look over at their self-proclaimed ‘beloved leader’ as he ducked through the curtain, all leather-jacket and sunglasses and effortless swagger. Say what you like about the son of a bitch, but he had the devil’s own timing. “You were meant to be here half an hour ago, AJ.”

AJ Crowley flashed that winning grin at her. “A Captain is neither late nor early, Miss Device,” he intoned, “he arrives precisely when he means to.”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake,” Ezra mumbled.

“Welcoming as always, eh, Ezra?” AJ whipped off his jacket, revealing the navy and grey uniform beneath. He gave his crescent insignia an industrious buff with his sleeve. “Well, crewmen – and woman – the Captain is here. Ready to go out and play nice.”

“No.”

Anathema turned back to Ezra with a groan. “Ez, come on.”

“No! Absolutely not!” The older man threw up his hands. “Why should I bother when he’s swanning about as if we’re playing second fiddle to him? I’m– I have had quite enough!” He started tugging at the back of his collar. “I’m not going out there and I’m not saying that _stupid_ line.”

“Well, that’s hardly professional, is it?” AJ said. He sounded like he was grinning.

“Shut up, AJ,” Anathema said with a roll of her eyes. “Come on, Ez. Just do this gig. They want to see you. There are so many people you there! Kids! You don’t wanna disappoint them, do you?”

Ezra harrumphed, but she could see he was softening. Predictable, really. He never liked to let down an audience. “Hardly me,” he muttered, though he stopped tugging at his collar. “I doubt they’d even notice if I wasn’t there.”

“Course they would!” AJ said, materialising at Ezra’s side and giving him a squeeze around the shoulders. “What would Captain Tobit be without Doctor Angel?”

Ezra pursed his lips, but his shoulders sagged. “Probably considerably less stressed,” he said, which only made AJ laugh.

“We’re on the same team, aren’t we, angel? All actors alike in dignity.”

Ezra huffed, but without malice, shrugging AJ’s arm off his shoulder. “ _I_ am an actor, _you_ are a diva.” He got up from his chair, smoothing his creased uniform. “I don’t even like you.”

AJ threw his arms wide, grinning. “You _do_.”

Anathema breathed out, the storm passing as Ezra huffed and pursed his lips but didn’t look like he was heading for the door. Every time. Every damn time she actually showed up. Why did they have to act like kids, when she was the youngest one of the original crew?

She glanced over at runner-guy, who was hovering anxiously by the curtain that led to the stage, and nodded. Better to get them out now before one of them said something and it all kicked off again.

The theme music started to play.

“Places, guys!” she ordered, bustling Ezra to the curtain, trusting Shadwell and AJ to get in position themselves. Probably a terrible idea, but wrangling one highly-strung middle-aged actor at a time was enough.

On the stage, the MC boomed out across the sound system, “They ventured across the galaxies, boldly seeking out new life and civilisations and now, they’re here for you! First up, William Shadwell as everyone’s favourite engineer Jock McDonald!”

Shadwell grinned toothily as he stamped out through the curtain.

The sound system blared again, probably showing a clip from the show: “I’m the thin red line that stands between the ship and disaster!”

The crowd surged and beside Anathema, Ezra murmured, “Oh my.”

“They sound like they’re hyped up, eh?” AJ sounded delighted, his chin poking over Ezra’s shoulder.

“Next up, we have the infamous prodigy, gunner and pilot, Misty Reyes!” The MC roared. “Give it up for Anathema Device!”

Anathema plastered on her most professional grin and ran out onto the stage, the lights dazzlingly bright. She raised her hand in a wave and somewhere over the cheers of the crowd, she heard the MC say, “And hasn’t she grown into that jumpsuit?” and made a note to find him afterwards and taze his balls. 

On the screen behind her, she caught a glimpse of her ten year old self in the pilot seat, her voice piping and high. “I can’t get a lock on him! The signal’s swamping me, Captain!”

God, some people just had to deal with embarrassing prom photos, not a three year contract as a character who was either the most precocious little angel or the most annoying, whiny brat depending on who you asked. And they’d used the footage from the season when she had braces.

She ran over to join Shadwell at the long table, frowning at the runner, who had taken the seat at the end of the table.

“What’s he doing?” she hissed to Shadwell.

“Laddie was an extra back in the day,” Shadwell said then grinned a bit too cheerfully. “I sent him off to the jaws of death.”

“Twice,” Newt said shyly. “He said I could sit in and maybe sign a few autographs.”

He – no doubt – being AJ. She sighed and turned back to the stage as the MC introduced Ezra.

“And where would the ship be without their Chief Science Officer, Doctor Nephili Angel? Come on out, Ezra Fell!”

What always impressed her was how Ezra could just switch it on. He would sulk and huff backstage, but the second he was in front of an audience, the showman came on like flicking a switch. His smile lit up the room and he waved and bowed, right up until the video clip.

“It’s ineffable!” His giant projected self bellowed over the sound of battle, his flaming laser sword blazing.

The wince was barely visible, but definitely there. He trotted across the stage and slipped into the seat beside her.

“At least you didn’t have to say it,” she offered, earning a wry grin.

“And now, the Captain you’ve all been waiting for!” The crowd went wild. “Ladies, gentlemen and everyone else! Give your warmest Tadfield welcome to AJ Crowley! Captain of the NSS Galaxy Quest, Jack Tobit!”

AJ burst out through the curtain with a flourish, throwing a jaunty salute to the baying audience. A spotlight illuminated him and he tilted down his sunglasses, winking over the top, and the crowd – already roaring – surged in approval.

“Oh good Lord…” Ezra groaned. “Of course he got a bloody spotlight.”

In front of the massive screen, AJ struck a dramatic pose, staring off into middle distance. “We’re on our own side!” he declared along with the footage. “Let’s go!”

That was the thing about AJ – he _loved_ it. He really did. Not just the show, but being a hero, being their leader. He lapped it all up and it was hard not to get caught up in it, even if he could be an annoying jackass a lot of the time.

Even when the fans came up with a thousand and one questions for the Q&A about seemingly random moments that most of them couldn’t remember, AJ listened and explained, as excited about it as the fans who were desperate to have their theories proved right.

“Say what you like,” she murmured to Ezra, “he’s damned good at this.”

Ezra glanced sidelong at AJ, who had leapt up to strike a pose for a picture with someone dressed like him. “He is, rather,” he murmured, the smallest of smiles twitching at his lips. “Though I do wish he wouldn’t let it go to his head.”

“Careful what you wish for,” she teased, as the MC announced a break before the signings.

She didn’t know who was more surprised when – after the brief intermission – her words turned out to be worryingly prophetic.

AJ had run to the restroom, but when he came back, it was like a different person. His coat-hanger frame was tense and taut, his sunglasses shoved up his nose and his expression stonier than she’d ever seen it. Gone were the wicked smiles and playful chatter. Gone were the winks and photos and hell, he wasn’t even engaging anymore.

In fact, he was being so weird that even Ezra noticed and was the one to lean closer and gently ask, “Is everything all right, dear?”

AJ’s head snapped around. “S’fine,” he snapped. “Why wouldn’t it be? It’s not like every one of us has been scraping a living since this damned show shot our careers in their faces, is it? It’s not like we’ve fallen from theatrical grace because of it! Everything’s just _peachy_.”

Ezra recoiled as if he’d been slapped and Anathema pressed a hand to his shoulder, startled. Yeah, they all thought it from time to time, but AJ _never_ said it. He was the only one who never seemed to mind.

“Steady on,” Ezra murmured, with a nod to the queue of fans. “Not when anyone is watching.”

From what Anathema could tell, AJ was staring at him. Hard to know, behind the dark lenses, but he huffed and nodded, snatching up a pen and resuming his mute scribbling of his autograph. Grab a page, sign and shove it back, not even a word spoken.

Ezra shot her a worried look.

“What’s going on?” she mouthed back at him, to which Ezra shrugged helplessly.

He even took on AJ’s more jovial mantle, playing up the welcoming amiable friendly actor shtick. But he was worried. She could see it in every line in his face, even as he laughed and joked with people in costume and admired some truly awful art.

“Oh, this is me, isn’t it?” he said, leaning over a colourful print. “And the Captain too. What marvellous use of colour. It’s so dynamic!”

The young woman on the other side of the table blushed happily. “You guys were my OTP,” she said in a whisper, as if confessing a secret.

Ezra beamed at her, though he clearly had no idea what that meant. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it, dear.” He signed the artwork with a flourish, then slid it towards AJ who scrawled his name onto it too. Ezra leaned sideways towards Anathema. “OTP?”

She grinned ruefully. “One True Pairing? You know? Relationship? Romantic-style?”

He blinked and under his white make-up, she could see him flushing again. “Ah. Yes. That. People do seem to read a great deal between the lines, don’t they?”

She had to hide a grin, taking another poster to sign. Tobit and Angel were a legend, their partnership a subject of much speculation for years. The flames had definitely been fanned by episodes centred on Doctor Angel and his species’… uh… well, they never _said_ mating ceremonies, but as Ezra observed, plenty of people read between the very clear lines.

“You should be flattered,” she teased, nudging him. “Stealth representation in days of yore.”

His lips twitched with amusement. “Oh do be quiet,” he grumbled, despite the twinkle in his eye.

“Captain?” A squad of four kids approached the table and got a grunt from AJ.

Ezra leaned over towards them, slipping in as a buffer. “Maybe I can help you?”

The young boy at the front of the group. “It’s a question for the Captain,” he said firmly.

AJ huffed. “What?”

The boy beamed at him. “We wanted to ask you a question about the final episode when you said to engage the Anti-C 11. We were wondering if you could explain what it does, cos we have an idea–”

“Several,” a girl behind him piped up.

“And we wanted to find out which one was the right one,” the boy continued, as if she hadn’t changed the direction of his question. “I mean, it’s obviously something important, but we didn’t get enough information from the show and the books and things don’t have–”

“It’s a _show_!” AJ snarled, ripping off his sunglasses.

“Shit!” Anathema hissed, lunging up out of her seat, but Ezra caught her arm, shaking his head.

“Yes, but–” the boy persisted.

“What part of ‘it’s a _show_ ’ are you miss–” He was cut off when Ezra clamped a hand hard over his face, shoving him back forcefully in the technique his character had been made famous for. He must’ve kicked the chair out from under AJ, because the man fell like a rock, out of sight of the fans.

AJ hit to floor with a yelp and Anathema saw Ezra slap a foot down on his chest, pinning him there.

“Please excuse the Captain,” Ezra said to the staring squad of children, smooth as silk. “I suspect that he’s been infected with Imbicilus parasite and needs to have a little lie down.” Under his foot, AJ tried to sit up, but Ezra slammed him down more emphatically, holding him there. “Now, regarding your questions–”

“Ezra!” AJ snarled after a good twenty seconds of writhing under his foot.

To Anathema’s complete astonishment, Ezra didn’t even break character. “Are you feeling better, Captain? Ready to be civil to our guests?”

“F’it’s that or squirming at your feet, _fine_ ,” AJ spat.

Ezra gave him a thin smile. “This young man is Adam. I’ve suggested he refrain from questions, since we’re not in the Q&A session, but he would rather like an autograph.”

AJ glowered at him, but shoved his glasses back on and grinned at the kid, almost convincingly. “Course,” he said, though Anathema could hear how forced it was. He snatched the boy’s poster and scrawled his signature across it. “Can I get a wahoo?”

Done, he threw down his pen and stalked away, disappearing through the curtain, leaving the fans and his cast mates staring after him.

“What the hell was that?” Anathema asked under her breath.

“They got to him,” Shadwell opined, jabbing a finger skywards. “That’s how it starts. Change in behaviour and that.”

Ezra was gazing off at the curtain, worry lines crumpling his face. “Well, someone did.” He plastered his smile back on. “But at least we can entertain our guests.”

“Yeah,” Anathema agreed, wondering what the hell had happened to turn AJ Crowley from consummate and enthusiastic professional to yelling at innocent kid in less than ten minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

__________________________________________

Crowley stared gloomily at the telly.

There he was, 18 years younger, all the flair and flash. Dashing about daft on budget sets made of styrofoam and fibreglass. “They told us we couldn’t do it! That we couldn’t stand together! But we did! Because we are on our own side!”

Ha. Our own side.

Maybe once, that had been true. Him and the crew altogether.

He’d done all right, hadn’t he? Okay, yeah, it wasn’t the star-studded career he’d imagined for himself, but he’d done all right. He’d thought he had. Telly show. Loyal fanbase. Okay, yeah, some typecasting going on for the past twenty years, but was it really that bad?

Still, it was like a slap in the face when he’d heard a couple of blokes in the loo at the convention centre having a good laugh at his expense.

“What a wanker,” one of them had sneered with no idea that the man they were talking about was in the occupied cubicle. “D’you think he knows how pathetic he looks up there? As if he believes all the hype?”

“Talking out his own arse,” the friend agreed. “And the rest of the cast! They can’t stand him! Did you see their expressions when he came out?”

Crowley had been halfway ready to step out the door and show them just what the hype was about, but the second man’s words took the wind right out of his sails. Yeah, he bantered with the rest of them, but that’s all it was, wasn’t it? Bit of mucking around among friends?

And Ezra’s words from backstage rang back to him.

_I don’t even like you_.

But that…

Nah, it couldn’t be.

They’d worked together for _years_. If they didn’t like him, why did they pick up when he called? Why did they agree to do the circuit with him?

Then again, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice. Shadwell didn’t really give a shit, as long as he could get a steady supply of beer and crisps, but Ezra… Ezra never stopped banging on about his time in Stratford and how much he missed meaty roles. Roles that had dried up after he spent three years as Crowley’s second-in-command.

The words had rattled around in his head when he went back for the signing, like a pebble starting a landslide, building momentum as it went, making him second guess everything they’d ever said to each other, hurtling across the peaceful landscape of his brain in a wave of chaos and recriminations and shit, they weren’t wrong.

Didn’t help the whole cast had been tainted by association when the whole Nutter thing happened. Not that any of them blamed her. When your producer gets it into his head to mess around with your leading lady and the resulting explosion pretty much destroys said producer and the rest of his studio…

The circuit wasn’t bad.

He loved it! He did! Bit of a fall from grace, yeah, but the show had been fun and the fans were fun and… and… and shit, they were right, weren’t they? Some people got a fancy car when they had their midlife crisis? What did he do? Sit and watch reruns and try and relive the glory days when they were the top show on a Saturday night.

He took another swig of the whisky.

It was a living though, wasn’t it?

His phone buzzed on the coffee table and reluctantly, he picked it up.

Unfair, he thought, staring at it. Shit. Were they just sticking with him because this was their living now? Was it just because they knew he was the big draw?

He staggered to his feet, heading through to the green room. Ha. Not even that funny now he thought about it. Plant room, really. Chockful of the needy little buggers.

Fishing out one of the succulent pots, he stumbled back through to his couch, collapsing down onto the leather, all elbows and knees, hugging the forlorn little plant pot to his chest.

“S’not fair,” he informed it. “M’a good actor. Worked hard, I did. Never meant to get in trouble. But then that Pulsifer bloke… well… you know. What was I meant to do, eh?” He sighed noisily. “Don’t ask questions, ‘pparently. Best way to be, if you want to stay on high. Don’t ask, don’t tell, and look the other way.”

Yeah, things had gone properly tits up after that. Turned out you were considered a potentially unstable element if you questioned your boss. Stupid bosses.

“S’the right thing,” he informed the plant. “What we did. And we had a good run. We did. And I… I know they want more, but it’s not all bad, is it? An’… an’ they don’t blame me. Do they? For enjoying it? I mean, wossa point of _not_ enjoying it? It’s… it’s…” He sank a bit lower on the couch. “Yelled at a kid,” he informed the plant. “Shouldn’t’ve done that. Angel went all…” He gestured with his glass. “That pushy thing. Knocked me on my arse.” He took another sip, burning his tongue. “Deserved it.” With great care, he waggled a finger at the plant. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Little by little, he slid further and further down the couch, veering wildly between grumbling about his silly ungrateful co-stars and how it wasn’t fair to be shafted just cos you stuck it to your boss. The plant – he assumed – listened attentively. Captive audience or some bollocks.

Got dark out and then… then ringing and not-dark.

Crowley groaned, squinting in the morning sunlight.

He’d gone from sitting on the couch to lying on the couch, cuddling the plant – Barbara, he vaguely remembered naming her. Lil Babs – against his chest. Not a bit of soil spilled, though he’d apparently managed to strip down to his boxers and a single sock while spooning her.

The ringing started up again. Doorbell.

He got unsteadily to his feet and meandered across the sun-patched floor, yawning and scrubbing at one eye. His head was thumping as he picked his way over abandoned shoes in the hall and opened the front door, Barbara tucked snugly against his side.

He stared, shut the door for a minute to grab a coat off the coatrack. Something to cover the old nips up. Then he opened the door again and stared at the huddled cluster that was too tall too be penguins, so he could only guess they were Nuns.

Oh. No. Wait.

The more he stared, the more he recognised the uniform. Season two, episode… twelve? The two-parter with the babies. Tobit’s friendly cohort of not-nuns who saved the day by misadventure and shenanigans. And… and they looked a lot like a group of people he’d seem bustling around the con the day before.

Jesus H Christ. Here he was, hungover in his sock and undies, with a horde of niche cosplayers on the doorstep.

“Um.” He glanced from face to face. “Can I help you?”

The tallest of the ground stepped forward. “We know this is a terrible breach in protocol, Captain, but we are in dire need of your aid. We are Thermians from the Oxta nebula. A terrible war lord – Carmine of Equus Quadrant – attacked us unprovoked and all our diplomacy’s ended… well… in fire and death, to be honest.”

The other nuns shuffled closer, echoing her.

Crowley blinked slowly at her. It felt like caffeine o’clock. “Right. And you’re at my house because…?”

“We need your help.” One of the smaller nuns nudged the larger one. “We have a limousine.”

Decaffeinated pieces of Crowley’s brain slid into place. “Oh! Shit! Right! Yes! Thingie!” Alexa should’ve buzzed him with the reminder. Bloody thing kept on missing his appointments. He opened the door. “Clothes! I need to get clothes.”

He left them hovering in the doorway and tottered back through the house. No time for coffee or manners, but if he was lucky, maybe they would stop at a drive through on the way.

By the time he had pulled his creased up uniform on the right way round and slapped on a pair of sunglasses to hide his embarrassingly blood-shot eyes, the four nuns were standing in his living room, huddled as tightly as they had been on the step.

“I’ve got to say, Captain,” the youngest of the group said, “this is such an honour to be in your house and everything. I mean, I’ve never been in a human house before, let alone a Captain one. It’s marvellous, isn’t it? What mighty beast did you slay for this floor covering?”

Crowley squinted down at the plush blue carpet. “Er… just went to Carpetright.”

“Carpetright,” the nuns murmured. Commitment, he had to give them that.

“You said something about a limousine?”

“Outside,” Tall Nun said, ushering him through the house and outside. They all moved the same way, hands folded urgently in front of them like they had an emergency round of praying to do. He stumbled along with them and into the promised limousine.

He slouched down in the seat. “So what do I call you?”

“Ah!” Young nun said eagerly. “I have prepared names for all of us. I am Loquacious, but you may call me Mary.” She motioned to the leader. “This is Garrulous. She will accept Theresa as a name, if you prefer a human one.”

“I’m Prolix,” the second youngest said eagerly. “Catherine is my humansona.”

He looked expectantly at the last one, who hadn’t said a word so far. Probably the oldest of the bunch with wisps of red hair sticking out from her wimple and a hell of a lot of slap for a nun. “What about her?”

The nun gave an ungodly shriek that sounded like an elephant with its testicle jammed in a crocodile’s mouth.

Crowley yelped, clamping his hands over his ears.

“She apologises,” Mary said. “Her translator is faulty. She would prefer to be called Tracy.”

Still wincing, Crowley gingerly nodded. “Right.” He slid his fingers under his glasses to rub his eyes. “Why don’t you run over the game plan? Which character doing what and where and when. I’ll just… put my head against this nice cold door frame and listen, all right?”

“Of course,” Garrulous said. “I should begin with some of the history of the conflict–”

“Right. Yeah.” Crowley agreed, closing his eyes. Just for a minute. Just for a little bit. Definitely listening. Not at all tired and head full of wool or anything. Fine and good and…

And someone was shaking him.

“Ngh?”

Sorry to wake you, Sir,” Mary said brightly. “You’re required on the command deck.”

He stumbled out of the car into the biggest garage he’d ever seen. The floor was vibrating underfoot. Bloody hell. Some people had a budget. He should’ve demanded a higher appearance fee. He slapped his face, trying to stave off the sleepiness.

“Right, so… I got the details in the car, but just… can you give me a summary? To double-check?”

Mary nodded. “Carmine was meant to be arriving to conduct negotiations,” she said, leading him deeper into a building as flashy as the garage.

“Carmine bad?”

“Oh yes, she is a terrible enemy. She kills because she likes it and thinks it’s funny and her friends are nasty pieces of work as well, very nasty pieces of work. Sable is all ooooh, I’ll just destroy your crops and food stores and Chalky makes a right mess. Gas, oil leaks, chemical burns. Everything.”

Crowley nodded. Right. Good. Nice straightforward villain RP. Done plenty of those. “This place is bloody huge.”

Mary beamed at him. “Yes, sir. The Galaxy Quest 2 was built to scale.” She swiped her hand over a door panel and it opened onto…

Crowley gaped. The place was the set. It was perfect. No, it was better than perfect. It looked _real_. It looked like it worked. Lights flashed. Screens went ‘ping’. And Garrulous was waiting, bobbing and gesturing him towards the Captain’s seat.

“We’re very sorry to rush you, Captain, but we’ve had word that Carmine is trying to hail us already. She wasn’t meant to be here yet.”

Crowley flapped a hand. “S’fine,” he insisted. “We’re the good guys, they’re the bad guys. Let me show them who’s boss and then we can do a Q&A and feedback. Improv isn’t a big deal. Used to do it all the time at the Fringe.”

“Here’s the situational analysis, sir,” Prolix added, holding out some kind of fancy tablet.

Crowley clutched it, heart sinking at the lack of script on the screen. God, he had too much blood flowing in his caffeine system for all this nonsense. “Right. Great.”

“Captain.” Another nun, occupying the seat that Anathema had used back in the day, glanced over. “We’re approaching in five clicks. Command to slow?”

“Er. Yeah. That sounds good.” He squinted at the projection screen in front of him. God, it was an amazing bit of CGI there. Maybe it was just footage of an actual bit of space. Either way, if they’d had this budget on the show…

He leaned forward, frowning.

“What’s that spiky thingie coming towards us?”

“Saints and demons preserve us,” Mary squeaked. “Carmine!”

The flock of nuns clutched their hands before their chest, freezing as the screen shifted to a video in another ship. The also-spiky person there had to be Carmine. She had Villain stamped all over her, from the blood smeared around her eyes to the body bits impaled on the spikes of her probably-once-shiny armour. Mandibles clacked around her face and the make-up was impeccable.

“Oh this is interesting,” she growled. “They’ve brought in a new Commander.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Crowley nodded and instantly regretted it. Oh god, he needed a drink of water or something, The Hangover was descending in full suffocating blinding headache mode and if he didn’t get out of the room soon and find the nearest loo…

“Are you afraid, little human?” she sneered. “You’re paler than your predecessor. Trembling too, I see.”

Crowley’s stomach twisted. “Garrulous,” he inquired hoarsely. “Ion canons. We have them, yeah?”

“Red and blue, Captain.”

Crowley sat up a little straighter. “Right. Yeah. Don’t like you. You’re a very bad villain.”

Carmine laughed. “How childish you are, human. Just like your little…associates.”

Bugger. What was the line? Oh! Yes! Right! “Doesn’t matter what we are,” he said, gesturing with as small as gesture as he could. Anything to stop the nausea. “We’re on the same side.”

Several of the nuns gasped in approval. Right. Yeah. Done the line. Time to finish and go home.

“Garrulous, fire everything. Red. Blue. Pink. Anything.” He flapped his hand towards the screen. “Finish her.”

He didn’t wait to see the eruption of CGI, running for the door and peering around for the nearest available canister-shaped thing. Several of the nuns hurried after him, a couple looking awe-struck – even as he puked into what he hoped was a bucket – but the rest looked… well… a bit more panicked than he’d expected.

“Where are you going?” Garrulous demanded.

He squinted up at her. “I think we can all tell I’m in no fit state to be here,” he mumbled. “I need to get home.”

She blinked at him as if she didn’t understand. “Home? You mean earth?”

“Mm.” He straightened up. “Yeah. Earth. Whatever.”

“But you… the negotiations. You _fired_ on her.”

He huffed. “Look, I can give you a refund, but I’m really not feeling great. I know it wasn’t a full scene, but I didn’t want to make a mess of your nice set.” He peered around. “Now, which was is back to the car?”

“I think what Garrulous is trying to say is what if Carmine survives?” Prolix said, hurrying after him as he set out towards the right shape of door.

“Pfft.” He waved a hand. “Never fired all blasters before. If that didn’t finish her, nothing will.” He paused, feeling more than a little swell of guilt. “Look, I tell you what, call me if you want me to try again. It won’t be a problem. I’ll do it gratis.”

Garrulous barked an order and a smaller nun hurried up, holding out an old fashioned walkie-talkie. “A communicator, Captain, to make things more direct.” Garrulous held it out to him, clasping his hand between hers. They were oddly cold and damp. “Thank you, Captain. You’ve saved us.”

He hooked the walkie-talkie thingie on his belt. “No bother.” He glanced around. “Now, the car?”

“This way,” Mary said brightly at his elbow. “We have a quicker way to get you back.”

“Oh?”

They showed him into a giant, glass-domed room, projected with stars and planets.

“This is all very nice, but…” Something cold and wet slithered over his feet and he glanced down, panic rising as some kind of liquid jelly gushed up. “What the fu–” It sealed around him, closing him in a cocoon. He couldn’t even move to turn and yell.

And that was when the bloody glass dome opened and they shot him into very and absolutely literal _space_.


	3. Chapter 3

____________________________________

Quite why they were opening a big town fair, Ezra couldn’t understand.

Convenience, he supposed. Having several B-bordering-on-C list actors who had – as one elderly local resident observed – been on the telly in town for a convention meant they could kill two birds with one stone.

“We’ve been through stars and planets,” Anathema was saying with that lovely _young_ enthusiasm that she still managed to have, “but we’ve never had an honour quite like this.”

“Aye,” Shadwell said, in the very distracted tones of one who has spotted the beer tent. “It makes you grateful for the little things.”

Ezra slipped on his showman smile. “With great pleasure, we’re delighted to announce the fair is open.”

The audience didn’t give the expected cheers or scuttle off and Anathema jabbed him sharply in the ribs with her elbow. “Say it,” she hissed.

He flashed a glare at her. “It’s ineffably good.”

And there were the cheers and Lord, he wished the floor would just open up beneath him and swallow him. What had he come to, reduced to a dancing monkey expected to perform a line everywhere he went?

“Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage,” he grumbled to himself. “And then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

“Ouch,” Anathema said with a theatrical wince. “Must be bad if you go to old Bill.”

“I miss being taken seriously,” he muttered, abashed. “Is that so terrible?”

She slotted her arm through his. “Nah. And you should enjoy being the star since our gallant Captain didn’t bother showing up.”

“No, he didn’t.”

If he was honest, he was a little concerned. He knew Crowley had read his message, but the man had chosen to ignore it. Was he sulking? Or had he resorted to getting earth-shatteringly plastered? It happened from time to time. Sometimes, they even did it together. But usually, it was done in good fun. Not when Crowley was in such an uncharacteristically miserable state.

Anathema tugged on his arm. “C’mon. We’ve got cakes to judge and a signing tent set up. I bet his solo gig just ran over again.”

She was probably right and he had to admit there were benefits to opening a fair that had a miniature version of the British Bake-Off scheduled. He’d never judged a baking contest before and was quite excited to get down to it.

It wasn’t until a couple of hours later when – full to the brim with cake – he had joined the rest of their ramshackle crew in the signing tent that he realised Crowley still hadn’t shown face.

“This really isn’t like him,” he said, frowning, as he sat down behind the table beside Shadwell. “I wonder if we should perhaps call Bea and see if she’s heard from him.”

“Rather you than me, Mr. Fell,” Shadwell grunted, shoving a stack of group photos at him. “At least the lad can fill his seat til he gets here.”

“The lad?” Ezra glanced along the table, then stared. “Newton?”

The young man gave him a sheepish wave. “Mr. Shadwell gave me a call when Mr. Crowley didn’t turn up.”

“Ngh.” Shadwell grunted. “Need all the allies we can get.”

“And the people at the fair _did_ expect four people,” Newton said. “The people in charge don’t seem to know much about the show, so they assumed I was meant to be here. It’ll… well, I don’t want anyone to get in trouble.”

Crowley to get in trouble, Ezra mentally corrected. “That’s very generous of you, taking time out of your day.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Newton said with a brighter grin. “I was coming to the fair anyw–” He stopped short, face reddening and Ezra glanced over his shoulder to find Anathema striding into the tent. She’d started the day in her uniform, but the sun was out and at some point, she had peeled it down to her waist, tying the arms around her hips, leaving her in a lace-edged vest.

“This place is like an oven,” she grumbled, twisting her hair up into a knot on the back of her head.

“Er. Yes.”

Anathema clearly spotted their interloper and raised an inquiring eyebrow at Ezra.

“Filling in for Crowley,” he explained, divvying up the piles of photographs between them. “It saves us and our agents a lot of bother of renegotiating because we were one short.”

“Uh huh. Well, if he shows–”

“I can run along,” Newton said at once. “Of course.”

It turned out to be a mercy that he was there, because Crowley didn’t bother to show up for _another_ hour as the last fans – Adam and his little cohort – drifted out of the tent and when he did, Ezra immediately wished he hadn’t. His hair was sticking wildly in all directions, his uniform stained with sweat, and when he shoved up his glasses, his eyes were far too bloodshot for Ezra’s liking.

He crashed through the group of kids on their way out, all of them going flying.

“Oh good grief,” he murmured, getting up, but Crowley was already on his feet, picking up bits and pieces of their fallen uniforms and toys and handing them back to the kids with an exuberant grin. “Crowley? What’s got into you?”

“Ez!” Crowley slammed into him, grabbing his arms. “You’re not going to believe. It’s real. It’s all real!” He laughed, shaking – or trying to shake – Ezra’s more solid body. “I was– they came to the house– shit! Barbara!” He stepped back, shoving his fingers through his hair. “No. No, no, no. Let me start again.” He took a breath, holding up his hands. “Right. Nuns. At my house. Space nuns.”

“Is he _drunk_?” Anathema demanded behind Crowley’s back.

“I… don’t think so,” Ezra said, eyeing Crowley. After years of working together, he had a pretty good mental barometer for his cast mate’s moods. “What on earth do you mean space nuns?”

“Them!” Shadwell barked triumphantly.

“Yes!” Crowley lolloped over to him, grabbing his shoulders. “Yes! You’re right! You’re absolutely right!”

Shadwell blinked owlishly at him. “I am?”

“Space nuns!” Crowley continued, spinning around, the wild, gleeful delight in his expression. “Came to my house! Took me into a limo and then I was in a ship! An _actual_ ship! _Our_ actual ship! And it’s all real! And I had to fight an alien! Big bloody red alien all covered in skulls! Carmine something!”

“High, maybe?” Anathema suggested.

Crowley gave her a flat look. “I’m not high.” He groped at his belt, whipping off a walkie-talkie. “I can prove it! Come in Galaxy Quest 2! Come in!”

“Oh God,” she groaned and Ezra had to admit he shared the sentiment.

“Crowley, that’s a _toy_.”

Crowley frowned at it as if it had betrayed him, then spun around to the place where the kids had been standing. “Ah, bugger! They must’ve got mine instead of theirs. I’ll just–” He broke off with a shout of welcome, lunging towards a nun who had just hurried in. “Mary!” He whipped around, his arm around the nun. “She’ll back me up.”

“Yes, Captain,” the nun said sheepishly. “The thing is that Carmine survived your attack and we don’t think she’s very happy about it. She’s demanded surrender negotiations and we hoped you’d come back and… you know. Give her a bit of what for.”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake.” Ezra huffed. “Did you pay this one?”

“What?” Crowley frowned. “No! It’s real! I’m telling you! And I want all of you to come back with me!” He stared, wild and hopeful, from face to face. “I need my crew there and you guys have to see it! It’s _amazing_!”

Anathema pushed herself to her feet. “I don’t want any part in whatever messed up mid-life crisis kink thing this is,” she said, heading towards the tent door.

“Er,” Newton added, blushing as he fled after her. Shadwell, no doubt shaken by someone agreeing with him, shuffled awkwardly around Crowley too, leaving Ezra to face their sometime friend and equally sometime trial.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, my dear,” he said, “but we’ve all had enough of your nonsense and chicanery.”

“My what?”

“You’re irresponsible, Crowley,” Ezra said with a sigh. “You leave us in the lurch all the time and now, you expect us to go swanning off on some… ridiculous ‘mission’ when you’ve clearly been on something–”

“Ez! Angel!” Crowley lunged towards him, grabbing him by the front of his uniform. “I’m _not_ high and I won’t have you–”

The nun cleared her throat. “I don’t mean to break up an intimate moment, Captain,” she said, blushing, “but we really need to return to the ship as soon as possible.”

“Right!” Crowley swung back around to her. “Course.” He glanced over his shoulder at Ezra. “I’m just saying the offer stands, Angel.” He flashed that bloody ridiculous, charming grin. “Can’t be a Captain without my second, can I?”

Ezra pursed his lips. “I can’t condone this nonsense,” he said and hurried after the rest of the crew.

It turned out he didn’t have to go all that far. Shadwell and Anathema were deep in conversation a dozen paces from the tent and glanced around as Ezra approached.

“D’you think we should stage an intervention?” Anathema demanded. “He’s clearly having some kind of psychotic break.”

Ezra shook his head. “I don’t think he is,” he admitted. “Crowley is many things, but that man is as sane as you or I.”

“Or me,” Shadwell added.

“Er. Yes. Clearly.” Ezra rubbed at his face, wincing in annoyance as golden scales pricked his fingers. “I must say it _was_ unusual for him to be so excited for us to join him on a job.”

“That’s true,” Shadwell said. “He’s no above lording his wee side jobs over us.”

“And it must be big if he wants all of us there,” Anathema agreed. “And if he’s this excited, that means a budget.” She met Ezra’s eyes and they groaned in unison. “God damn it!” she snarled as they all turned and rushed back towards the tent.

Crowley had buggered off somewhere, but the nun was still there, smiling hopefully.

“It looks like we’ll be joining you,” Ezra said.

“Oh that’s lovely!” The nun clapped her hands together in delight. “The Captain asked me to keep the connection open.” She popped open a walkie-talkie. “Four more for transport to the ship.” She snapped the walkie-talkie closed and beamed at them. “He said you’d change your mind. Curious as a cat, he said.”

“I beg your–”

The nun pressed her fist to her chest in the salute from the show. “I’ll be waiting for you when you arrive on the ship.”

“I don’t–”

The nun fizzled out like a candle and Ezra’s heart dropped to his stomach. What the _hell_ …

“God above!” Shadwell yowled.

Ezra whipped around to see jelly rising from a glowing circle on the ground, wrapping around the man. Anathema shrieked and grabbed at Ezra’s arm and he looked down. A glowing circle of light around each of them. Rising tide of jelly.

It engulfed him, but not before he got out one meaty “Fuck!”

Quite what happened next, he wasn’t 100% sure of.

Unless he was mistaken, he surged into the Heavens, brighter and faster than a shooting star, whirling across the cosmos while wearing a jolly cold bodysuit that felt – and tasted – a bit like blancmange.

But of course, that was ridiculous!

And as suddenly as it began, he was standing in a vast metallic room, blancmange suit slithering off him, leaving him shivering and gasping for breath. He staggered, staring wildly to the side. Anathema was there too. And… and… and…

The doors slid open and monstrous tentacle… things slithered in, like octopi if they were six foot tall and carrying spiky sharp tools and screeching.

Well.

Ah.

He flinched as one of the creatures starting jabbing at him with the metal spikes, his stupid shaking body still far too wobbly to be of much use to man nor beast. Not painfully, he noticed staring at what seemed to all intents and purposes to be an alien, just prodding and poking and–

It screeched and dropped the tools. Its body made a strange fwiiiiip sound and abruptly, a nun was standing in front of him, pressing her hands together.

“I’m dreadfully sorry, Master Angel,” she babbled. “We forgot to activate our appearance simulators.”

“O-of course,” he blurted out. “Obviously.”

And that was the point when Newton – who had apparently been caught up in all the madness – did the only sensible thing a man could do when confronted with a change to his entire perception of life, the universe and everything: he started screaming.

The doors slid open again, and lord the relief at the sight of Crowley made him stumble forward, grabbing at the man’s arm.

“You made it!” Crowley beamed at him. He looked a lot fresher, in a cleaned, pressed uniform, hair coiffed. “Isn’t this _amazing_?”

Ezra clung onto his arms, squeezing hard as if to confirm he was in fact there and solid and not some hallucination produced by rather too much cake. “Crowley, dear,” he managed through chattering teeth, “what the hell is going on?”

Crowley smacked him warmly on the arm. “We’re here to save the day.”

Ezra squinted at him. “Wh-what?”

“I’ll – they’ll explain,” he said, waving towards the former-octopi-now-nuns. “But first we’ll get some food into you. It helps with the lag.”

Too dazed to argue, Ezra could only nod, as Crowley gestured for them to follow him, leading them out into what did really seem to be a… a space ship. Long metallic corridors stretched off in all directions, and nuns huddled in little clusters, watching them pass.

A tug at his elbow made him turn.

“We’re surrounded,” Shadwell hissed. “Outnumbered. You tak the ones on the left, I’ll tak them on the right. The wee yins can go down the middle.”

“With _what_?” Anathema hissed. “There are hundreds of them and I don’t think my hairpin is gonna do the job.”

Ezra held up his hands. “Perhaps we don’t immediately attack the people who have the capacity to shoot us into space?” he suggested in an undertone. He glanced at Newton, who had at least stopped screaming. “Are you all right, Newton?”

“We’re in space,” Newton said blankly. “In a space ship. With aliens.”

“Weeeeeeeeeell,” Crowley swung around. “Two out of three.” His grin lit his face. “This isn’t the ship. This is just a space port.” He was practically bouncing on his toes and Ezra couldn’t help remembering their first days of filming all those years ago. When Crowley was excited about something, it was contagious. “D’you wanna see the ship?”

What could they say but yes?

The nuns – why nuns? – hustled them to a large room that turned out to be a lift.

“Excuse me,” Newton said with surprising calm for a man who had been screaming not five minutes ago. “You _are_ an alien, aren’t you?”

The smallest of the nuns nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes, sir. Hatched and raised. And we’re very honoured to have you all come on board.” She beamed at Ezra. “Doctor Angel, it’s such a thrill.”

“You… know me?” Ezra inquired, steadying himself against a handrail.

“Oooh, yes,” the nun said. “We know all of your missions. And it must’ve been some time ago for you. Lieutenant Reyes is much bigger than we were expecting. We’ll have to adjust the accommodation accordingly.”

“Wait,” Anathema interrupted. “You watch our show?”

“The historical documents?” Another nun clasped her hands in front of her. “Yes, of course! While we would never presume to emulate your noble crew, we have modelled our lives on those who were able to help you on your quests.”

At once, the pieces clicked into place: the recurring convent, a plot device they had used time and again when the crew needed help and the writers had written themselves into a hole. That was why the nuns’ uniforms looked familiar with their inverse star insignia.

“The Chattering Sisterhood of Beryl,” he murmured. “Of course.”

The nuns exchanged chittering sounds that seemed to be pleasure.

Sweet Christ, Crowley knew the poor creatures were mistaken, but had let them believe the show was a legitimate documentary and the crew were all some kind of space travelling fighting force? What the hell was he playing at?

To the side of the lift, the walls dropped away into wide windows and Ezra forgot entirely about shouting very loudly at Crowley about damned silly notions and tricking innocent aliens. There, floating in the middle of the… the space port, the Galaxy Quest hung against a backdrop of midnight velvet and spiralling nebula, the sleek planes shining in the starlight.

“Oh my,” he breathed, stepping closer to the glass. “It’s _real_.”


	4. Chapter 4

As far as odd days went, Newt had experienced his fair share, but this particular day was definitely well up there.

In front of him, a couple of octopi-like aliens disguised as humans and dressed as nuns were excitedly chattering about the specs of the space port and the ship around him. If that had been the only weird part of his day, he would’ve been over the moon! The space! The technology! All of it absolutely staggering! To say nothing of the aliens.

But it definitely wasn’t the only weird part.

On one side of him, he had a grumbling Scotsman trying to fashion some kind of rudimentary lathe from an insole from his shoe and a crisp packet. On his other side, the most astonishingly good-looking woman he’d ever met in his life seemed to be reciting some kind of calming mantra that had an awful lot of swearing in it.

And that wasn’t even starting on the scene playing out behind him, with the Captain and First Officer of the Galaxy Quest trying to have a heated argument but in a way that didn’t look or sound like a heated argument to their alien hosts.

“What was I meant to do?” AJ Crowley hissed out the side of his mouth. “They put me on a bloody spaceship!”

Mr. Fell was smiling that calm polite smile he’d had on his face through all of the signings. “You _could_ have told them the truth.”

“And that would help them exactly _how_?” Crowley gave a laugh and slapped Mr. Fell on the back. “Look, we’re just here to be diplomatic or something. No harm in that, eh?”

“Um,” Newt volunteered, turning a bit to face them. “Have you had any diplomatic training?”

Mr. Fell’s lips pursed. “Yes, Crowley,” he said tartly. “ _Have_ you?”

Crowley huffed. “Look, they need someone to do _something_. We’re here now. They haven’t got anyone else!” He tilted down his glasses and frowned at Newt. “What are you doing here, anyway? You’re not on the crew.”

“Well, he was certainly present at our scheduled appointment this afternoon,” Mr. Fell said curtly. “If you can spend a morning convincing aliens you are an effective and punctual leader, young Newton is welcome to be one of our crew. He’s certainly a great deal more reliable.”

“Ouch!” Crowley winced as if stung.

Ahead of them, a door slid silently open, the nuns leading them all through it, and Newt had to stop to just _stare_. It was one thing to see the ship from the outside, but the deck looked identical! He’d never filmed a scene on it, but he’d been given the tour by studio hands who had been very enthusiastic about showing him everything he wanted to see and had loved every second.

Behind him, Mr. Fell and Crowley stopped arguing with some garbled sounds from Mr. Fell, who was obviously as impressed as Newt was himself.

The nuns clustered together, watching them expectantly.

“If you’d like to take your positions?” The one that seemed to be the leader said.

“Positions?” Mr. Fell echoed.

Crowley seemed to understand better, marching towards the Captain’s seat, and the others hurried to their own seats.

“Er…” Newt glanced around awkwardly, then sidled over to the narrow seat near the pilot seat. “D’you mind if I sit here?”

Miss Device shifted awkwardly in a chair designed for a ten year old. “Don’t see why not. It’s not like grandma’s gonna turn up to take it…” She glanced back at him again. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Newt,” he replied bashfully. “I mean Newton. Newton Pulsifer.”

Maybe it was a space thing, but he was sure he felt the temperature drop a few degrees.

“Pulsifer.”

Heat scorched up his cheeks. “I– er– yes.”

Dark eyes narrowed. “Any relation to old Adultery?”

Oh. Oh bugger.

“Actually, his name was Edward.”

Miss Device shot up out the seat, pulling the sleeves of her overall back on and zipping her uniform up all the way to the throat. “I think it’d be better if you sat somewhere that isn’t anywhere near me, don’t you?”

Newt couldn’t help thinking that was a fantastic idea, and fled across the deck, around the huddle of whispering nuns.

“What’s the matter, young man?” Mr. Fell murmured, as Newt squeezed onto the narrow seat near him.

“Um. Family thing.” He gave Mr. Fell a hopeful grin. “I’m… I don’t really have anything to do. I mean, I wasn’t in the show.”

The man gave him a wan smile. “I hardly think that matters, given where we are.”

“Captain!” The chief nun broke formation. “Some of the crew would quite like to be here, what with this being a momentous occasion. They’re all very excited.”

Crowley hesitated, then shrugged. “Why not?”

A flood of black-and-white clad people poured into the room, filling every space. Not all of them were in habits and there were a few man-shaped ones among them, one of them eyeing Newt as if he was actually someone famous.

“Oh my…” Mr. Fell murmured.

“Didn’t realise these talks were so important,” Newt breathed.

Neither did Crowley, from the look on his face. “Ah. Right.” He poked at some of the controls on the seat, then winced. “Um… Reyes…”

Miss Device’s face went blank. “Don’t you dare!” she hissed, twisting in her seat.

Crowley gave her a pained grin. “Take us out.”

She spun back to her controls, staring at them, then scrambled up, marching over to the Captain’s seat. Mr. Fell lunged forward to catch her before she reached Crowley, grabbing her wrists.

“If you’ll give us a moment!” he called out to the aliens. “A little crew discussion!”

They bobbed and filed out at once, leaving the crew alone and Newt felling about as useless as a fifth wheel.

Miss Device bared her teeth. “I can’t fly a spaceship, AJ!”

“She’s right,” Shadwell put in from behind Newt. “She hit yer car the ither day.”

“Wait, that was you?”

“You parked in the cycle lane!” She wrenched her hand free of Mr. Fell’s grip. “And that’s not the problem right now!” She waved furiously at the seat. “I haven’t touched that thing since I was in pigtails! How the hell am I meant to fly a goddamn space ship?”

“They designed it based on you!” Crowley yelled back. “How hard can it be? You just…” He flapped a hand. “You know – wiggle the bits and forward and back and stuff. It can’t be that hard. You did it for years.”

“On”– she ground out through clenched teeth–“a _TV_ show.”

“Just do what you did then!” Crowley said, as if it was completely reasonable. As they weren’t in _space_.

Newt cautiously raised a hand. “I could help.”

Miss Device shot a glare at him. “We don’t need any more help from _your_ sort.”

“Anathema, _really_!” Mr. Fell held out a hand consolingly to Newt. “Don’t worry, dear boy. It’s nothing personal.”

“Oh, so you’re sticking up for the grandson of the man who got you all fired?”

Shadwell grunted in surprise. “Old Hands-On himself?” A rough hand tugged Newt around. “Aye, now ye mention, he has a bit of a look of him.”

Newt flushed beet red. “I only meant I watched the show a lot as a child. I used to want to be the pilot so I… I had a model of the controls…” Less a model, really, and more the entire pilot console after the set was dismantled.

Miss Device glared at him. “ _I_ am the pilot,” she snapped. “No Pulsifer is taking that away from me again.” She stalked back over to the seat and threw herself down into it. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Anathema, dear…” Mr. Fell said gently. “He didn’t mean–”

“She shook her head. “I’m doing this. I can. I have. Let’s just–” She jerked her hand impatiently.

Mr. Fell gave Newt a sympathetic smile. “Go and get the crew back in, there’s a good chap. I’m just going to… have a word with the Captain.”

As he hurried towards the door, Newt heard Crowley groan as Mr. Fell no doubt gave him a less shouty talking to. He took a breath and opened the door with a hopeful smile. “You can come back in now.”

And with a very strangled, “Take us out, Reyes,” from the Captain, the ship started to move.

Sort of.

Newt clutched at the edge of the nearest control panel as Miss Device stalled the engines. The motion jolted the ship so hard that he noticed some of the Nuns surreptitiously uncurling suckers to cling to the floor. Somewhere outside, metal was screeching and he found himself shifting his hands and his weight the way she used to in the episodes, to tilt and…

“I can see you doing that,” she snapped across the deck.

“Sorry!” he yelped as the ship jumped sideways. “The purple button! You need to hit the purple button!”

She scowled, but moved her hand and the engine purred to life, shooting them straight out into space. Dark sky and stars turned to silver streaks and Miss Device twisted in her seat, her hands shaking on the controls. “I– gram usually did a computer thing! Who does the thing?”

“Computer!” Newt called out, praying the settings weren’t fixed. “Set to autopilot!”

“Autopilot engaged!”

Miss Device sagged back in her seat, looking torn between relief and clinging to annoyance. “Looks like you’re not totally useless.”

Mr. Fell reached over and clapped his shoulder. “High praise indeed,” he said, a little grey around the edges. “My word, that was… quite a ride.” He got unsteadily to his feet, wobbling towards the Nuns. “My dears, I don’t suppose you have such a thing as a brandy on board?”

“Ooh, we can synthesise anything you might like!” One of the younger nuns piped up eagerly. “We have a dining hall and everything!”

“Oh, splendid!”

Shadwell shambled after him and Crowley headed over to Anathema, giving her shoulder a squeeze. She glowered up at him too, but her expression softened when he chuckled.

“You just flew a _space ship_ , An.”

“I guess.”

He jerked his head towards the door. “Come on.” He glanced over. “You coming, Frog?”

“Newt.” Newt got up. “I’ll… I’ll catch up in a minute. Bit shaky.”

He waited until the door closed behind them and only then did he go over to the pilot’s seat, sitting down on it. Everything looked just as he remembered it, but Miss Device was taller now. Longer legs and arms. He poked around at the seat, checking the controls.

“Aha!”

The arms spread a little wider, the seat rising to a better angle. He leaned forward to adjust the height of the screen and jumped guiltily out of the seat when the door hissed open behind him.

“I didn’t break it!” he exclaimed automatically, before he realised it wasn’t one of the crew.

The wide-eyed little alien he’d noticed earlier was standing in the doorway. He looked convincingly human with black hair twisted into prongs above his ears, dark skin and ink-dark eyes. “You’re the one that kept coming back.”

Newt blinked at him. “Beg your pardon?”

“You.” The alien fidgeted with his shabby, mesh-covered uniform. “In the historical documents. You died many times and you came back.”

One of the advantages of having a grandfather in charge of the studio, Newt thought, embarrassed. “Er. Yes. It was just luck, really.”

The alien gave him a shy grin. “I like it when you came back.”

“Thank you?” Newt shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “Don’t suppose you can show me where the others are?”

“Oh! Of course!” The alien grinned excitedly. “We can have some food.” He waited for Newt at the door, ushering him down another identical corridor. “Would you like one big avocado? And some toast? We hear that millennials like toast?”

Newt eyed him. “You see a lot of… um… historical documents from earth?”

“I like more current ones,” the alien admitted furtively. “The written ones called me-mes are my favourites. What do you know about Ceiling Cat?”

Newt eyed him and his pointed hair that looked a lot like ears. “Not much, I’m afraid.”

“Ah.” The alien sighed gloomily. “I thought you might be a follower for all your loads of lives.” He swiped a panel on a door. “This is the dining hall.”

Newt gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you… er… what was your name?”

The alien blinked at him. “Oh? Me? I’m…” He frowned, as if shuffling through an internal catalogue. “Eric. Yes.” He beamed, showing perfect white teeth. “You can call me Eric.”

“I’m Newt.”

Eric’s eyes grew huge. “Did you meet a witch?”

“What?”

“What?”

Newt shook his head. Right. Yes. Probably some meme or quote or something from twenty years ago. “No, it’s just my name.” He nodded towards the table where the rest of the crew were sitting. “I should just… you know…”

Always the best way out of an awkward situation, turning and walking away as briskly as possible.

Newt slid into the vacant seat beside Mr. Fell and immediately regretted it at the sight of the wobbling gelatinous mass on the man’s plate, which seemed to be filled with fish-like eyeballs.

“What is _that_?”

Mr. Fell dug out a spoonful. “I can’t pronounce the name,” he said, “but it’s from… ahem… my home planet. It really is rather good too.”

“My mam never said eat food that still had its eyes in,” Shadwell said, giving the mass a suspicious prod with his fork.

Mr. Fell knocked his fork away. “Shut up and eat your haggis, _Jock_. Sorry, Sister. You were saying?”

“Yeah. What does it do, this Anti-C thing?” Crowley asked around a mouthful of burger. “Why does Carmine want it?”

The chief nun was sitting opposite him. “We were hoping you would tell us.”

“Ha!” Miss Device nudged Crowley. “Go on. Tell them.”

Crowley made a face at her. “We never used it,” he said. “I think we found it?”

“Have you tried switching it on?” Newt suggested.

From the chorus of horrified shrieks from the nuns, that was a bad suggestion.

“Our engineers think it might be some kind of super bomb,” Mary said urgently. “Switching it on could be catastrophic!”

“Well, that explains why she wants it,” Crowley said with a wince.

“Which is why it’s a good thing she shan’t get it,” Mr. Fell said. He gave Newt a smile and gestured with his spoon to the chief nun. “Garrulous was just telling us about the work they’ve done, creating all of this.”

“Why the nuns, though?” Newt inquired, taking what he hoped was a bread roll from a plate in the middle of the table. “I mean, you could’ve been the crew of the ship or anything.”

Garrulous leaned back as if he’d offended her. “Ah. We…” A couple of other nuns chittered sympathetically. “We weren’t nuns at first. We were… too proud and thought we could be a crew like you. We had out Captain, the Mother and it…” She clasped her hands. “Forgive us, we should have told you before.”

Chittering sounds ran the length of the table and, on the view screen on the far side of the room, a video started to play. A very, very graphic and bloody video. Big spiky alien and one who looked just looked like the naked nuns.

And blood. And screaming.

The roll dropped from Newt’s hand, bouncing away across the table.

“Oh God,” he croaked.

“Tell me what I want to know,” red spiky alien bellowed.

More blood. More screaming. Mr. Fell adding eyeballs back to his dinner plate.

“Um?” New said with a look at each of the other members of the crew.

As one, they leapt to their feet and fled for the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a bit of a trying week, so I'm giving up on illustrations for the foreseeable.

Every damn door in the corridors looked them same and Anathema tried yet another one. Another engineering bay or something. No pads, no circles, no glowy goop. Jesus, this couldn’t be happening!

“But where are you going?” The nuns were chasing after them all down the hallways.

“Oh, I would say that’s quite obvious!” Ezra snapped tersely over his shoulder. “We’re going.”

“But you can’t do that!” One of the nuns – Mary? – said, alarmed.

“I think you’ll find we can!” Ezra retorted. “No offence, my good… er… woman, but we did not sign up for mutilation and death!”

“We want to go home!” Anathema put in furiously. “We don’t belong here.”

“I definitely don’t!” Newton exclaimed. “I died in the show! All the time! I don’t want to die in space!”

“I didn’t know!” AJ added. “Look, I was trying to help, but I didn’t know about that!”

“We should have told you,” Garrulous said, squeezing her hands together like she was praying. “But… we didn’t think you’d come.”

“Obviously!” AJ snapped, shoving his fingers through his hair. Thank God he looked as terrified as the rest of them. “Get those light disc thingies up and running again and we’re getting them all home.”

“But you _can’t_!” Mary exclaimed.

“Is this wee yin trying to keep us prisoner?” Shadwell growled, starting for her.

“No!” Mary flapped her hands. “It’s just that Carmine’s ship would blast any transport pods out of the sky.”

Anathema felt sick. The video and the screaming and the alien with pieces flying off popped up in her mind’s eye, and she had to reach out and steady herself against the wall. “Here? She’s here?”

“But… but you said it was some time until the rendezvous!” Ezra blurted out, looking as grey as the trim on his uniform.

The nuns nodded in sync, bobbing anxiously. “We think she wanted to catch us off-guard,” Garrulous confessed unhappily. “Which we should’ve guessed because she’s done it before.”

“Shit.” AJ looked around at them apologetically. “Well… maybe I can… you know… do the diplomatic thing?”

“Last time you were here, you said you shot her!” Ezra exclaimed, voice getting higher by the second. _That_ was never a good sign. “Blasted her out of the sky, you said! Do you really think you’re going to be any help in this situation?”

“No!” AJ snapped. “No, I don’t! But I’ve got to do something!”

They stared at each other and – to Anathema’s surprise – Ezra’s shoulders sagged and what looked like a rueful smile crossed his face. “Of _course_ you do.” He sighed. “And I can hardly leave you to do it on your own, can I? We happy few…”

They exchanged a loaded look, the meaning of which shot straight of Anathema’s head, but apparently it meant enough that they both nodded.

“Very well, Garrulous,” Ezra said, turning back to the nun. “We’ll deal with this. We can make no promises about the outcome.” He glanced around at the rest of them. “You don’t all need to come, if you’d prefer not to.”

“If I’m gonnae be blasted to smithereens by some alien bastard, I want to look the bugger in the eye,” Shadwell growled.

“Me too,” Anathema said. It sounded better than saying she didn’t want to be left in the galley, sitting, waiting, not knowing what was going to happen. “And if we need to get the hell out of dodge, I’ll be in my seat.”

Newt nodded. “If we’re going to die horribly, I’d rather know it’s going to happen, than not.”

“You see, my dear,” Ezra said with a crooked smile at Crowley. “We’re surrounded by optimists who are absolutely certain you can do what you came here for.”

AJ – sweaty and pale – almost managed a grin. “Right! Let’s do this! On our own side and all that.”

We’re going to die, Anathema thought blankly, falling into step behind them.

The command deck was empty when they got back to it, not a single nun to be seen anywhere. Well, _that_ wasn’t good.

Anathema sank into her seat, then frowned in surprise. She was _sitting_. Not folded up like a lounge chair. Had one of the aliens noticed she was too big for it and fixed it? Or maybe…

She glanced guardedly over at Newt, who waggled his fingers sheepishly at her, as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Oh. Huh. Well, that was unexpected.

“Where is everyone?” AJ asked, as they took their positions.

Garrulous gave them a pained smile. “Things always seem to go a bit… well… tits up when we try tactical simulations,” she explained. “We thought it would be better to let you… you know… get on with things, since you work better together.”

“Right.” AJ grimaced.

Garrulous trotted over to Ezra’s station, touching a control. “I’ve hailed Carmine on Gamma frequency. She should be–”

“Fresh meat.”

Anathema whipped around, flinching back in her seat at the sight of the… thing on the screen. It looked even more gory than it had on the video in the dining hall, skulls impaled on the spiked shoulder plates of her armour.

“So. Carmine.” AJ managed to sound calm as Garrulous scuttled back behind him. God only knew how. “What’s up?”

“Pieces of my Lieutenant,” Carmine growled, showing sharp, blood-smeared teeth. She lifted her hand, bringing a dripping severed head into frame. “He missed your little… stunt with the ion canons. Left our flank open.” She tossed the head aside with a meaty thump.

Anathema turned away, gagging.

“Here’s the thing,” AJ sounded more shaken. “About before. I– it was all a misunderstanding. The… cannons and everything, so let’s negotiate. I mean, this whole battleships thing isn’t really my scene.”

“Your scene. Your starring role.” She leaned into the screen. “You know what I want, _Captain_. Give me the Anti-C 11 and we might be able to negotiate the terms of your surrender.”

“The Anti-C. Right. Yes. About that… fantastic device. Very powerful.”

Carmine grinned. “Oh, I know. And you’re going to send it over to us or I’m going to blast your ship to splinters and pick it out of the wreckage. Fast or slow, Captain. You choose which way you want to die.”

“Funny thing,” AJ blurted out, “Telling someone you’re going to kill them, either way, isn’t the incentive you’d think.”

“Oh God…” Anathema groaned. Screaming and blood and wriggling tentacles came to mind.

“Your crew seem to understand one is worse than the other,” Carmine retorted. “The Anti-C, Captain. You have ten seconds to make a decision.”

“But that– it’s not– shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit shit!”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“Fine! All right! You can have it!”

Anathema turned in shock, relieved to find she wasn’t the only one surprised to find AJ handing a killer bomb off to a maniac. “What?”

“The guys’ll get it sorted out for you. Just give us a second, okay?”

AJ shot a panicked look her way, twitching one hand towards her controls. Oh. Oh no. No, no, no, that wasn’t good. With his other hand, he slashed his finger across his throat to Ezra as he bounded down from the Captain’s seat.

“What are you–” Exra demanded, looking wildly between the Captain and the scary-looking alien grinning on the screen.

“You know how this stuff all works,” AJ snapped at Newt. “Hit all these buttons and give them everything we’ve got so–”

“Crowley!” Ezra exclaimed, panicked.

“Not now,” AJ yelled over his shoulder. “These ones here, Newt. All these ones. Full power.”

“I don’t think the same trick will work twice, do you, Captain?”

AJ froze, then pivoted on the spot, all colour draining from his face. “I gave you the ‘kill’ sign,” he hissed at Ezra.

“No, you gave me the ‘dead’ sign!” Ezra snapped back. “I agree!” He gestured wildly at the controls. “Do you honestly think I know how to manage this… new-fangled nonsense?”

Carmine grinned. “Strike grenades,” she said to someone off-screen. “Take out the engines. I want to have fun with these little worms.”

“Newt!” AJ yelled. “Ana! Now!”

Whatever Newt did, it lit up the screen like the fourth of July. Anathema couldn’t even _see_ through it all, but if it was a choice of blaze of glory or ripped to slow pieces, she knew which she’d prefer and she grabbed the controls, slamming everything as far forward as fast as she could.

Thank God it didn’t stall, the engines roaring to life. They smashed into something, sending it tumbling, sirens wailing and screaming.

“Oh God oh God oh God oh God…”

“She’s coming after us!” Newt howled. “She’s gaining!”

Someone crashed into the back of Anathema’s seat and a sideways glance gave her a glimpse of red hair. AJ. “Turbo!” He jabbed at button on the screen. “You used to use that!”

“I don’t know!”

“Try it! Get us out of–”

Anathema slammed her hand against the turbo button. The ship leapt forwards, throwing her back in the seat, and AJ’s curse was cut off by a crash.

The ship shook and rattled around them and somewhere over the noise, she heard Ezra yelling, “We need to stop!”

“No!” AJ howled back. “We stop, she catches up!”

“Haud yer wheesht!” Shadwell’s voice boomed through the speakers. “The lads down here say the engine cannae take much more of this! Ye’ll blow us to kingdom come afore she even gets caught up to us, if ye keep going!”

“Shit!” Anathema yelped, dragging her hand off the button.

The ship slammed back into normal speed, throwing her hard against the control desk, and from the yells and swearing from everyone else, they’d all ended up on the floor as well. “Is she still coming?”

“Gaining!” Newt yelled raggedly back. “Maybe we can lose them in that cloud!”

“Oh, that’s not a good idea, sir!” Garrulous picked herself up off the floor. “That’s the mine field left over from the war of–”

Something hit the ship, throwing them all sideways again.

“Given a choice of mines or torn limb from limb, I know which I’d choose!” Ezra poked his head over his console, meeting Anathema’s panicked stare. “Dear girl, you’ve flown us through worse! You can do this! You must!”

“That wasn’t _me_!” Her hands were shaking so much. “Ezra, this– I never–”

Another blast threw him sidelong, his head smacking against a console. He fell out of sight.

“Angel!” AJ yelled. “An, get us out of here! However you can!”

Heart in her throat, she launched them into the mine-field, trying very hard not to think about it and just dodge the flying pressure bombs.

“Oh God oh God oh God oh God…”

More booms. More shuddering jolts. Lights flickering on and off as she picked up speed.

“Maybe try not to hit every one of them!” AJ howled from somewhere on the floor.

“This isn’t as easy as it looks!” she yelled back at him, her palms so sweaty they kept slipping on the controls. “They’re magnetic or something! They’re coming at us!”

“Carmine isn’t following us!” Newt’s cracking voice made it over the crashing and bangs of the mines ricocheting off the ship.

“Well I’m glad _one_ thing isn’t!” Anathema screamed back at him, tilting and twisting and turning the ship through the labyrinth of bombs as much as she could. God, it was like trying to steer a bumper car or a shopping cart with a broken wheel. How the hell was she meant to–

Something exploded off the left side of the ship and plunged the command deck into darkness, but the star-lit minefield still lay ahead. Pressing her lips together, Anathema fought against the controls until – at last – they burst out into clear sky, the ship spinning to a clumsy halt.

“God…” she gasped out, shaking.

“Angel?” AJ called out, staggering to his feet. “You with us?”

“Mm.” Ezra’s pale head rose into view, the lump on his forehead impressively swollen. “A little knocked about, but intact.”

AJ stumbled across the command deck to him, Garrulous following close behind. “Let’s get you to medical. An? You upright?”

She nodded blankly, then jumped when a hand touched her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Newt asked. His nose was bleeding and he was holding the broken frames of his glasses in one hand.

She stared up at him. Bursting into tears would be bad, she decided. Very bad. As much as she wanted to. “Can we get a drink?” she asked, voice breaking.

He cautiously offered her a hand. “If they can make a burger, I’m pretty sure they can make us shots.”

Anathema dissolved into helpless shuddering laughter as he helped her to her feet and together, stumbling through the wreckage of the command deck, they wove their way out into the ship.


	6. Chapter 6

“…aft engine, sixty percent damage. Critical damage in levels three, four, five, six, seven and nine on the port side.”

Crowley rubbed at his eyes with one hand, the fingers of the other drumming rapidly on the table. The rate the bloody thing was going, they’d be here until the end of the month just getting the damage report. “Just tell us what _is_ working,” he snapped.

He and the crew were all sitting around the table in the room they’d informally known as the teaset behind the scenes of the show: whenever people needed to have a casual conversation, they would be in the place that was part café, part bar, all soulless and white and sterile.

The computer droned on. “Rear shield generator at 24% capacity. Forward shield–”

“Oh, for… someone’s sake!” Crowley surged onto his feet. “Can someone make that sodding thing shut up?”

“Er…” Newt raised a hand. “Computer, can you confirm what things are working?”

“Life support functional at 89%,” the computer replied as if it was totally normal to be operated by a random human talking to it.

Crowley stared at him, then around the room. “That’s it? That’s _all_ that’s working?”

“Well, better that it is,” Ezra murmured. He didn’t look as bad as he had on the command deck and whatever weird alien medical care the nuns had given him, it had brought down the lump on his head a treat. “It would be a sorry state if we’d lost that too.”

“Yeah, but _still_!” He pushed his fingers through his hair. “Okay. Right. So why aren’t the engines working?”

The computer said bugger all.

“Computer,” Newt mumbled, “why aren’t the engines working?”

“The beryllium sphere has been damaged,” the computer replied.

“It doesn’t like me,” Crowley declared. “Bloody thing doesn’t like me!”

“It’s an automatic system,” Newt said sheepishly. “I’m just doing things the way–” His eyes flicked awkwardly to Anathema, who was still nursing a bottle of tequila. “It’s how it used to be done on the show. Kind of like saying Alexa to get it to do things.” He laughed weakly. “Can’t even keep a phone working at home and up here–”

“Fine!” Crowley glared at the ceiling. “Computer, do we have another one?”

Nothing.

He gestured emphatically. “For fu–”

“Computer,” Newt interrupted urgently. “Is there any spare beryllium sphere on board?”

“No. There is no spare beryllium sphere on board.”

“Um.” Newt gave him a hopeful smile. “The computer says no.”

Crowley was very close to making a very rude noise.

“Ah,” Ezra said with a nod. “You need to be specific.” One side of his mouth twitched. “And here I thought you were the one who was good with technology.”

Crowley tried to glare. “Oh shut it, angel. I–”

Behind him, the door opened, cutting him off. The nuns, led by Garrulous, filed in mournfully and dropped to their knees, clasping their hands in front of their hearts. Crowley gaped down at them stupidly.

“Forgive us, Captain,” Garrulous said mournfully, “we have failed you.”

“I– you– wot?”

The nun looked up at him, as confused by his confusion as he was by their apology. “We’ve obviously buggered something up,” she said. “I mean, we’ve watched your missions and you always succeed, so it can’t be your fault, which means it must be us. Our attempts at your technology.”

Heat crawled up Crowley’s neck, his face flaming. “Ngh. It’s not you! It’s just– ah–” He cast an imploring look Ezra’s way, jerking his head.

“We’re not who you think you are,” Ezra cut in mercifully. He didn’t look as woozy anymore, though the bump on his head was impressive.

“I beg your pardon?” Garrulous looked offended. “Of course we know who you are! We’ve studied you extensively!”

“No, no, dear!” Ezra held up a hand soothingly. “I… tell me, do you have any kind of entertainment on your planet?” Baffled glances were exchanged. “What about plays? Television?”

“Ah! Yes! Your historical documents!” Mary put in, brightly.

Crowley groaned, pushing his face into his hands. “No, no, no…”

“No, not _historical_ documents,” Ezra said. Crowley recognised that voice. It was the one he used when speaking to the kids at conventions, the ones that made them all believe he was a gentle, mild-mannered scientist. “I mean, surely you don’t think Hamlet is a–”

The nuns gasped as one, clutching at each other.

“That poor boy! And his poor father!”

Ezra shot a disbelieving look at Crowley, who was peeking out between his fingers. Well… that was just perfect.

“Can I ask,” Anathema spoke up for the first time since the command deck, “do you guys get the concept of pretending?”

“Ah!” Prollix beamed. “You mean deception! Lying!”

“Ah shit,” Crowley groaned into his palms.

“We weren’t really familiar with it,” Garrulous said, nodding ponderously, “but Carmine seems to favour it. We’re learning very quickly that when she says she’ll show mercy, it only means she’ll kill us faster.” She gave them a hopeful smile. “It’s not as if you’re anything like that, eh?”

And, in chorus, all the nuns gave strange honking laughs.

Crowley ran his hand over his face, then forced himself to meet Ezra’s eyes. He shrugged helplessly, gesturing to the nuns.

“Yes.” Lines curved down Ezra’s brow, his lips pursing. “Well. No, Of course we’re not like her. But–”

A screen lit up over the table and Crowley spun back to it gratefully. “Oh thank God.” Shadwell peered up at him. “Any news from engineering?”

“Aye.” Shadwell jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “These lads have tracked some of that beilillybum to a place nearby. They said something about endotherms and propulsion and y’know… all that wordy stuff that looks like a bowl o’ spaghetti letters an–”

“Do they think we can get to it?” Ezra cut across him.

Shadwell scowled at him. Don’t, Crowley thought imploringly. Don’t pick today of all days to remember how much you don’t like him. “Oh, aye, they say we can. They’ve got a wee ship with the endo doodads. It’ll get us there and back.”

“Looks like we’re doing that!” Crowley said, scrambling to his feet. “Go to the planet place. Get the berylli-thingie. Come back.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Anathema groaned into her glass.

“It’s go out there or sit in here and wait for Carmine to show up with no power or defences,” he pointed out. “The sooner we get this berylli-ball, the sooner we can get home.”

Anathema made a face at him. “I really hate you,” she grumbled, getting to her feet.

“Yeah, well.” Crowley forced a grin. “Who doesn’t?” He glanced at Frog-boy. “You coming too?”

“Er,” Newt said. “This planet – is it inhabited? Are there going to be aliens?”

Crowley shrugged expressively. “We’ll find out on the way.” He nudged Ezra’s chair with his thigh. “Come on, angel. Need at least one person with their head screwed on.”

“As opposed to almost knocked off,” Ezra quipped ruefully, touching his bruised brow. “Do you think it’s safe to travel after a knock on the head?”

Crowley stared blankly at him. “We are travelling. In space.”

Ezra’s face broke into that familiar self-deprecating sunny smile. “Oh, how silly. I had forgotten. It barely feels like we’re moving at all.”

Technically, they weren’t. Spinning in a gravitational pull or something.

“It’ll be fine,” Crowley said firmly. And, he didn’t add aloud, probably safer than a ship that only had life-support left. “Garrulous, can you get us down to Shad– Jock? We’d better get a move on and get to the sphere as soon as we can.”

The nun nodded at once. “Follow me, please.”

They followed her out into the identical long corridors, Crowley taking the lead like he knew what he as doing. It was always better to play it cool and collected, even if you were the proverbial swan – suave on the surface, paddling like a bastard underneath.

Someone grabbed his elbow. “Mr. Crowley!”

“Gyah!”

Newt let go, blushing. “Mr. Crowley,” he said again, a panicked look on his pale face. “Is everyone going?”

“It’s up to you. You can stay here if you like.”

Newt glanced around, as if he expected the whole thing to fall apart or someone to jump out on him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, what if there’s something up here? I’d rather be with everyone else.”

For that, Crowley didn’t blame him. “You seem to know what the tech stuff does,” he said. “You’d be making yourself useful if you tagged along.”

“I would?”

“Yeah.” Why not?

They packed into a lift that juddered downwards. It opened onto a docking bay so big you could fit half a dozen double-decker buses into it. If they hadn’t just limped away from a sodding space battle through a _mine_ _field_ , Crowley suspected he would’ve been more impressed.

Shadwell stood on the far side of the bay, haranguing a cluster of the aliens who were huddled beside something that looked like a metal tube with one end cut off at an angle. Big enough to fit people, which made his heart sink as they got closer. Just like the prop shuttles on the show. Same plastic bucket seats and everything.

“…all wanton Jezebels, the lot of you!” Shadwell grumbled, wagging a finger at them.

All of the nuns were giggling, as if he’d been giving them the highest of praise.

“Everything all right, Jock?”

“Right enough,” Shadwell growled, still eyeing the nuns with determined suspicion. “I’ve been warning them that they may have us on their wee rocketship, but they’ll no be corrupting us with their crude and heathen ways.”

“Not that you need any help, eh, Shadders?” Crowley nudged him.

Shadwell looked torn between indignation and pride.

Crowley nodded towards the shippish thing. “Is this our ride?”

“Aye.” Shadwell gestured for him to come inside. “Enough room for six and the ball hingie. The lasses have put in the directions, so wee Ana only needs to get us out of here and it’ll fly us the rest of the way itself.”

“Auto-pilot.”

Shadwell nodded. “D’ye want to pick yer seat?”

A glance at Ezra told Crowley the man was feeling as dubious as himself about going for a fly in an enlarged toilet-roll tube. “Give me a second,” he said, then meandered back over to Ezra. His hands twisted over and over, the flash of his signet ring a glint of gold in the roiling motion. “Angel?”

“It really does look exactly like the show, doesn’t it?” Ezra gave a weak little laugh.

“Only this stuff all works,” Crowley pointed out. “I mean, look at the ship! Would the set’ve lasted flying through a mine-field like that?”

Ezra grimaced. “That’s not as reassuring as you might think.”

“It’ll be _fine_ ,” Crowley said firmly. “They wouldn’t send us into danger, would they?”

“They might not, but you, I’m not so sure about.” Still, it was said with a hint of a twinkle in his eye.

Bastard, Crowley thought happily. All soft and fluffy on the outside, but razorblades inside.

A cough just behind them made them both turn.

“Hello.” A smaller male-presenting alien without a wimple and with spiky points of fluffy hair that looked suspiciously like bunny ears was standing there, nervously looking between them. “Um.” He held out a gadget towards Ezra. “A tracker pad for you, Doctor Nephili. I’ve put in the sphere coordinates for you.”

“Oh. Wonderful.” Ezra gingerly picked up the gadget with the same attitude of a Victorian lady picking up a dead mouse, dangling it by one corner. “I… er… I’ll be sure to use that.”

The little alien grinned and looked between them again. _That_ expression Crowley recognised. He’d seen it at every convention they’d done in the past decade. “D’you want a selfie?” he offered.

The alien’s liquid black eyes went wide. “I mean, if you don’t mind, Captain!” he squeaked, pulling out something like that looked like an old Nokia flip phone.

Crowley slung an arm around Ezra’s shoulders, pulling him in. “Not a problem.”

The rabbit-alien-boy-thing took a couple of pictures, then bolted away, giggling.

“Do you _have_ to encourage them?” Ezra inquired, giving him a look.

“Shaddup,” Crowley said, socking him fondly on the arm. “I know you like making them smile as much as I do.” He glanced down at the block of wires and metal in Ezra’s hands. “You know what that thing does?”

Ezra flushed. “Newton!” he called, hurrying after the young man who was escorting Anathema into the shuttle.

Crowley glanced around the docking bay once more, then took a deep breath. Onward, he thought, and off to their first alien planet.

God, he was going to need a stiff drink when they got back to earth. Or several. With Ezra. Maybe make a day of it. A week. Christ, a fortnight. Maybe more. And some of those cakes Ezra liked. It’d been a while since they’d done that. Just relaxed and got absolutely plastered in the safety of each other’s company.

“Oi! Captain!” Shadwell yelled.

“Coming!” he called back, hurrying to the shuttle.


	7. Chapter 7

“You don’t need to hold on.”

Ezra gave Crowley a thin smile. “All the same, I think I’d prefer to.”

“It willnae make a difference if this thing cracks like an egg,” Shadwell said nastily from the front seat. “Ye’ll get sooked into space with the r–”

“Oi!” Crowley snapped.

“I’m only–”

“You’re only shutting up, Shadders.” Crowley glared at the man.

Shadwell huffed, but Ezra managed a weak smile. “That was very kind–”

“Don’t you start,” Crowley grumbled, turning his face back to the front windscreen thingie, but even by the silver starlight, Ezra could see how red his ears had turned.

The shuttle continued its juddering trajectory across the sky, whizzing through space debris towards a large orange-looking planet. Ezra was fairly certain his fingers were carving indents into the underside of the seat, his stomach bouncing about his ribcage like a squash ball.

Mercifully, the flight was uneventful and Anathema managed to bring them into land without crashing, though not without a few bumps and bruises.

Ezra sagged in his seat, breathing hard.

“Are you all right, Mr. Fell?” Newton asked softly.

Ezra glanced over at the boy in the seat next to him. “Better now we’re–” He leaned sideways as Shadwell stumped up the narrow aisle between the seats. “Now we’re on the ground.”

“It’s–”

The doors hissed open, the ramp rattling down, and Newton went white as chalk.

“Wait! Don’t open that!” he squeaked, wrestling out of his seat. “It’s an alien planet! We don’t know what the atmosphere is like! Does it have breathable air?”

“What?!?” Ezra yelped, twisting in his seat.

Shadwell, standing in the doorway, leaned out and sniffed.

“Oh Christ,” Ezra groaned, tugging at his seat harness.

“You can’t just stick your head out into an alien planet and _sniff_!” Newton wailed. “It’s– you could’ve killed all of us!”

“Aye,” Shadwell sounded far too cheerful. “But I didnae.”

Ezra’s hands shook on the belt. “You _stupid_ man!”

A hand on his shoulder made him catch a breath and he looked up. Crowley was standing beside him, his glare fixed on Shadwell. “Stop being a prick, Shadders,” he said and he was using his Captain voice, the one that made people jump and listen.

“Right you are, Mr. Crowley, sir,” Shadwell mumbled.

Crowley squeezed Ezra’s shoulder. “All right?”

Ezra – his heart still thumping like a moth against a lightbulb – nodded, fumbling the clips of the belt. The harness slithered loose. “Yes. Fine. Quite tickety-boo.”

Crowley glanced down at him. “F’you want, you can stay here and watch the shuttle.”

And be left, not knowing if or when anyone else would come back…

“Well,” he said through dry lips. “I can hardly let you have all the fun, can I?”

Crowley gave him a lop-sided grin, offering down his hand, and hauled Ezra to his feet.

Together, they picked their way out of the shuttle and – blinking – into the blisteringly hot sunlight. To all intents and purposes, they seemed to have landed in the Grand Canyon, red sandstone gorges running in all directions.

“Holy…” Anathema breathed behind them. “Look at this place.”

Ezra nodded, staring around. “Not quite British Columbia, is it?”

Crowley laughed wryly. “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Canada anymore.” He nudged Ezra. “Did Frog-boy get the doodad working?”

Ezra turned over the electronic gizmo. “It’s not as complicated as I thought,” he admitted. “It’s like those… oh… you know… the things they use for finding radiation? That make that clicking sound?”

“A Geiger counter?” Crowley eyed it dubiously.

“Something of the sort.” He pushed one of the buttons and the screen lit up, a small green dot pulsing at one corner of the screen and a red blip at the middle. “We’re the red dot, so we just need to make sure we go in the direction of the green one.”

Newton coughed pointedly.

Ezra’s cheeks warmed. “Er. I mean, we’re the green dot and we need to make sure we’re going in the direction of the red one.”

“Six and half a dozen,” Crowley said, sauntering down into the sunlight. “As long as the dots find each other, we’ll be fine.” He whipped a pair of sunglasses – how on earth did he always manage to find them? – and spread his arms. “We,” he said, a wide grin spreading across his face, “are the first humans on an alien planet! Let’s explore!”

Ezra turned the gadget and pointed. “We need to go that way.”

Crowley bounded off, as excited as a child at Christmas.

Newton inched closer to Ezra. “Did he ever _watch_ the show?” he inquired sotto voce.

“What do you mean?”

The young man glanced sidelong at him. “I mean every episode, it’s a toss-up between evil aliens on a planet or evil aliens on the ship.”

A prickle of dread ran down Ezra’s spine. “But this is real life, dear boy. Those were only fictional.”

Newton forced a smile. “Yeah. Suppose so.”

Still, Ezra couldn’t help noticing the young man stayed remarkably close to him as they continued to bring the red and green dot closer together. And technically, hadn’t they just dealt with an evil alien on a ship as well?

No, no, not to worry. They would get what they came for and be back on the ship. Nothing to fret about.

He glanced ahead, fighting down a smile at the sight of Crowley ducking behind rocks and doing his… Captain things, dramatic barrel rolls and action poses. It had been quite some time since he could remember Crowley enjoying himself so much.

“Does the rolling help?” Anathema demanded, stumping after him, sinking ankle deep in soft reddish sand with every step.

Crowley scrambled to his feet. “Course it does.”

Ezra couldn’t help himself. “Yes, dear, but where’s your little walkie-talkie?”

“Shit!” Crowley sprinted back around them, scuffing at the ground with his foot and eventually popped up with a sand-crusted communicator and a cry of triumph. He made a face at Ezra. “You just like making me look like a tit.”

It almost felt like the old days, the retort rising to Ezra’s tongue at once. “Oh no, darling. You do that very well by yourself.”

Crowley positively glowed at him, jogging alongside as they came over a ridge to find Anathema and Shadwell standing, staring out at a giant white wall in the valley below. From what Ezra could make out above it, the place was an enclosed garden of some kind.

“Walls,” Newton said weakly. “Walls mean something was here to build them.”

Ezra reached out blindly to pat him on the arm. “Yes. Well. It looks like our sphere is inside there.”

“Inside…” Even Crowley seemed to be having second thoughts. “Any chance that little gadget can tell us if there are life forms or something in there?”

Ezra didn’t even hesitate to hand it over.

“I can’t tell,” Newton admitted. “It looks like it’s only set to locate the sphere. It’s not picking up anything but us and it.”

Well, it wasn’t as if they really had any choice in the matter, was it?

“We’d better be cautious,” Ezra said, striding up beside Crowley. “Whatever built those walls is… well, I imagine it’s quite…” He paused, frowning, trying to think of how to describe it.

His friend glanced sidelong at him. “Were you going to say ineffable?” he said dryly.

“Absolutely not!” Ezra huffed, though admittedly the word would unfortunately fit. Still they exchanged crooked smiles and set off down the gentle slope into the valley.

As they neared the giant wall, Anathema was the one to point out a gap at the foot. “Do you think we could fit through there?”

“First time on an alien planet and we’re breaking and entering.” Crowley chafed his hands together as if to warm them. It was something of a relief to know he was as nervous as Ezra himself. “Is it breaking if they’ve left a big buggering hole in the wall?”

“You’re the one with past experience of… capers,” Ezra said uneasily as they neared the gap, which was easily big enough to fit a man.

Crowley nodded and ran a hand over his face. “Right. Shadwell, you stay out here and yell if you see anything coming. Anathema, you–”

“I’m _not_ staying out here with him,” Anathema blurted out and no small wonder. Given the chance Shadwell would always bring up Miss Device’s tempestuous grandmother, usually in the coarsest of terms.

“Right.” Crowley motioned them on.

In single file, they inched through the gap and into a beautiful lush garden that reminded Ezra very much of the greenhouses at Kew. Trees towered up over them, thick plush plants blooming along a clearly marked pathway. In the distance, the rush of water could be heard through the whisper of the breeze in the trees.

“Blimey,” Crowley breathed. “Would you look at that…” He reached for his belt, producing a small knife and Ezra hastily reached out and slapped his hand down.

“No! No clippings!” he whispered urgently. “We don’t know if these things are poisonous or anything!”

Crowley made a face, but tucked his knife away. “Where are we headed?” he asked.

With Newton’s help, Aziraphale triangulated their destination, setting off through the brush. He didn’t want to voice his concerns about the very visible and well-used paths they were walking on. An overgrown jungle would have been fine, because that didn’t mean occupation. Used pathways, on the other hand, meant someone either lived or visited here a lot.

Judging by how quiet his companions were being, he had a sneaking feeling he wasn’t the only person who had noticed.

It came as something of a relief when they reached the edge of a clearing, at the heart of which a vast tree grew, large, glistening spheres shining on its branches. Spheres that – how suspiciously convenient – were about the same width as their path.

“Right…” Crowley murmured. “What’s the catch?”

“Well, there’s the guard dog,” Anathema said. “Look how cute he is.”

Ezra peered around, frowning, then spotted the beast in question. It looked rather like a Jack Russell terrier, black and white and currently scratching its ear with its hindleg. Oh. No. Wait. Its middle leg. It apparently had six of them.

“Maybe I can distra–”

Anathema only got three steps before Newton yanked her back into the bush. “None of you watched the show at all, did you?” he squeaked, panic in his voice. “It might look all harmless and fluffy now, but it’ll get big and it’ll get all grr and argh and…” He pantomimed clawing, teeth bared.

“Jesus!” Anathema shook her arm free. “We’re _not_ in a TV show now!” She peered out, then ducked back into the brush with them. “Shit!”

Ezra peered out to see what had alarmed her.

Across the clearing, a man-shaped thing was moving towards the tree. It seemed to be dressed in ragged robes with an amphibian-like face and wisps of thin white hair. He must have stepped on a branch because the guard dog whipped around.

“Good boy,” the frog-like fellow gurgled. “There’s a good boy.”

Ezra squinted. “The dog’s eyes,” he murmured to Crowley. “Are they–”

“Glowing?” Crowley nodded, then recoiled into him with a yelp when the dog went from two foot to six towering feet tall and lunged. The frog-man gave a wail and turned, fleeing off through the bushes, the massive slavering hellish dog in hot pursuit.

“See!” Newton exclaimed. “See!”

“Well, he’s gone now! You two, get back to the shuttle. Bring it down to the wall!” Crowley grabbed Ezra’s arm. “Quick! Before it comes back.”

Ezra stumbled into the clearing with him. “I don’t know why you need me.”

“I’m not that tall, am I?” Crowley said urgently, gesturing up at the glowing spheres. “Give me a boost and I’ll grab one.”

Oh. Yes. Of course. It had always been a source of great amusement for Crowley that a man as soft as a marshmallow was capable hoisting him into the air with ease. The show had certainly taken great advantage of it.

“It’s been a while,” he warned, crouching and cupping his hands. “If you put my back out…”

“I’ll pay for your chiropractor,” Crowley retorted, setting one foot in his hand. “On three?” Ezra nodded. “One, two, three!”

In the same motion, Crowley pushed himself off from the ground and Ezra hoisted him up as high as he could. Crowley swung forward, wrapping both arms around the sphere and Ezra scrambled back out of the way. His arms slithered and he dropped like a wet cloth.

“Not ripe enough?” Ezra guessed.

“S’pose not.” Crowley peered around at them. “This one?”

It took them five attempts to find one that seemed even a little loose.

For a long moment, nothing happened, then the stalk of the sphere snapped like a ripe apple plucked, and Crowley dropped, landing on his knees, arms still tight around it as it bounced down onto the grass.

“Oh good show!” Ezra exclaimed.

Crowley gave a crooked grin. “Might need a hand moving it. It’s pretty bloody heavy.”

Together, they steered it back towards the path they had come in on. The sphere pulsed and throbbed against their hands, easily as heavy as a weighty medicine ball as they rumbled it towards the crack in the wall.

Only to find Shadwell running towards them from the other direction.

“Wee dugs!” he bellowed. “There’s hunners of wee dugs!”

“Wee d–” Ezra’s eyes widened in horror. “More?”

“We need to get outside the walls,” Crowley said urgently.

Shadwell jumped in alongside them, pushing the sphere too. “Ana said they’re fetching the wee spaceship, but there are a lot of the dugs chasing after them.”

“We’ll be fine,” Crowley said. “It’s just dogs, Shadders. Nothing to worry about.”

Ezra shot a disbelieving look at him and Crowley gave him a helpless shrug.

“Alien dugs,” Shadwell growled. “Wee six-leggie buggers.”

“Yes,” Ezra puffed as they came up towards the gap in the wall. “Well.”

Outside, the sun seemed so much brighter and – oh, thank Heavens – there was the shuttle, sailing over the ledge of the valley, skimming down low to the ground. And like a shadow cast by it, a tidal wave of creatures like the guard dog were giving chase.

“Oh,” Ezra said faintly.

The shuttle bounced down onto the sand, skidding in an arc that brought it almost all the way to the wall. Young Newton threw the door open.

“Quick!” he yelled. “There’s more of them coming!”

Shadwell made a break for the shuttle and Ezra didn’t need to be told twice, throwing his back into it and shoving the sphere up the small ramp into the shuttle. There was no room! They needed more room, or else they wouldn’t all fit and he and Crowley weren’t in.

The shuttle jolted off the ground, almost knocking him and Crowley off their feet.

“Anathema!” He cried out. “Open it wider! Quickly!”

“I’m trying!” she shouted back.

“Angel,” Crowley said, calm and quiet beside his ear. “Sorry about this.”

“About wh–”

Crowley slammed into Ezra’s back, throwing him over the top of the sphere. He went down hard on his shoulder on the metal floor at Newton’s feet and heard the hiss of the doors sliding closed behind him. The shuttle tilted sharply upwards.

“No!” Ezra spun, staring at the doors. “Where’s Crowley?”

“He… he fell,” Newton gasped.

Underfoot, the shuttle rumbled to life.

“Anathema, stop it!” Ezra shouted. “Stop it at once! Crowley isn’t here!”

“I can’t!” Anathema half-sobbed back at him, wrestling the controls. “They set the autopilot!”

Ezra staggered to his feet, scrambling over to one of the small windows along the side of the ship and as the ship wheeled around, he saw Crowley on the ground. They were moving. They were moving and Crowley was outside and they were leaving him behind.


	8. Chapter 8

Mr. Fell was in a bad way and Newt honestly wasn’t feeling much better himself. Even Mr. Shadwell was being unusually quiet as the shuttle jetted back in the direction of the ship.

“They’ve got tracking machines on the ship,” he said, trying to sound optimistic. “We should be able to locate him.”

“If the wee dugs havenae ripped him to pieces,” Shadwell moaned.

“Shut up!” Anathema exclaimed. She was pale as milk, clinging to the controls, even though she didn’t have to.

“A lot of guard dogs aren’t there to attack,” Newt said, looking between her and Mr. Fell, who was slumped in his seat, eyes bright and wet. “Maybe they just herded him to their owner.”

“Owner?” Mr. Fell raised his eyes from the floor. “What do you mean?”

“Well, they were obviously guarding the tree,” Newt replied. “And from the look of the paths, the spheres were collected regularly enough to wear a path in the bushes.” He tried to smile encouragingly. “And the hole in the wall was exactly the right size for it.”

The man slowly nodded, kneading at his thighs anxious with both hands. “And maybe they would be amenable to returning him,” he murmured.

If, Newt thought ruefully, we hadn’t just robbed them. He got up and wobbled over to the sphere, which was lashed to the wall at the back of the shuttle. It hummed under his touch, solid but warm, almost like a van de graaff generator.

“Is that thing good?” Anathema demanded, glancing over her shoulder.

She deliberately didn’t ask if it was worth the loss of their friend and colleague.

“I think so,” Newt said. “It looks and sounds like the ones they use on the ship. Once they plug it in, we’ll be able to get right back to him.”

“Yes,” Mr. Fell said quietly. “Back.” He ran a shaking hand over his face. “Are we nearly there?”

The ship loomed into view only a few minutes later and as soon as they touched down in the docking bay, Mr. Fell rushed out, hurrying to the nearest nuns.

“Your transportation rooms, dear lady,” he called as Newt rushed after him. “Where are they?”

The nun – Prollix, New guessed – led them in a hurrying waddle through the corridors. Newt fell back to Anathema’s side.

“You okay?”

She gave him a blank look. “I’m on a busted space ship with a batshit alien chasing after us and AJ might be dead, so no. Not great.” She hurried on ahead to catch up with Mr. Fell as they were led into the transportation hub.

Another nun was frantically working on a console beside a glowing glass ball, bringing up an image of the planet.

“I’ve found your friend, dear,” she said, turning from the glowing crystal ball with a beaming smile. “He’ll be right as rain once he gets up.”

“Gets up?” Mr. Fell ran to the ball, peering into it. With a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, he sagged against the console. “Oh, thank heavens! He’s alive!”

Newt peered over his shoulder.

Sure enough, Mr. Crowley was sprawled on his back in the middle of the clearing, under the trees, breathing hard and red faced. He didn’t even look like his clothes were torn or anything. All around him, circling the clearing, there were hundreds of the little dogs, all yapping.

“Here you are, Doctor,” the nun said helpfully, offering him a communication device, which Mr. Fell grabbed like a lifeline. “We’ve given it a bit of welly so you’ll have the range.”

“Crowley?” Mr. Fell gasped out.

On the screen, Crowley twitched, groping for his own communicator. “Angel?” he croaked.

“Oh thank God!” Mr. Fell laughed sharply. “Are you already, my dear?”

Crowley struggled up into a sitting position. “Ngh. Bloody things chased me a circuit of the walls. Haven’t jogged this much since you blackmailed me into doing the sodding marathon in 2003.” He peered around him. “Um. Not sure what they’re waiting for.”

“Waiting for?” Anathema leaned over Mr. Fell’s other shoulder. “They aren’t just attacking?”

Mr. Crowley wobbled to his feet. “Nah. If they weren’t dogs, I’d say they were chanting.”

Newt had a sudden flashback to at least five separate episodes of the show. “You don’t think they’re going to sacrifice you? Like in seventeen, twenty-two… and all the other ones with the slightly racist allegories of primitive cultures?”

“Who’s that wee fella?” Shadwell demanded, poking a finger at the ball and a murky figure who was walking out of the undergrowth. “This bugger.”

“Behind you!” Mr. Fell exclaimed. “It looks a bit like the fellow they chased off earlier!”

Crowley wheeled around again.

This creepy looking creature was more lizardlike, huge bulging eyes on the side of its head, and long sharp claws. It charged and Crowley gave a yelp, bolting off and dashing around the clearing, the humanoid lumbering after him.

“We’ve got teleporty stuff!” Mr. Crowley yelled into his communicator. “Use it!”

Every one of the nuns turned to Shadwell.

“Whit?” the man demanded, backing up.

“Well, we have the equipment, love,” the nun at the control said, “but we’ve never been able to use it properly.” She gave Shadwell a look that Newt really tried to hard not to read into. “We don’t know that much about your anatomy is all. Not that we wouldn’t like to.”

“Whit dae ye mean?!” Shadwell wailed.

“You’re the one who operated it,” Newt realised. “Anathema was our pilot. This was what you did!”

“Oh fu–”

“WHIT!?!”

Mr. Fell was still staring at the ball. “Do it, Shadwell!” he snapped.

“Do it yerself, ye great southern pansy!” Shadwell screeched at him.

To everyone’s surprise – except a couple of the nuns, who giggled – Mr. Fell whipped around like the wrath of God, eyes blazing. “Not a southern pansy, _Jock_ ,” he snarled, advancing on Shadwell. “ _The_ Southern Pansy.” He grabbed the man’s arm, dragging him to the console. “Do your damned job. Bring him back!”

Shadwell flailed his hands over the controls. “I-I dinnae remember how it goes, Mr. Fell!”

Mr. Fell glanced at the screen. “Try it on that one,” he said, pointing at the globe. “If you can catch him, then we can catch Crowley too.”

Shadwell goggled at the controls, then tugged at controls at random and hit a button.

The lizard-thing vanished from the clearing.

“You did it!” Anathema exclaimed.

The teleportation panels on the floor glowed, then faded and Newt gagged, clapping a hand over his mouth. They’d brought the alien thing on board, yes, but it definitely was a lot pinker and gooier than it had been seconds earlier.

“Did it work?” Crowley rasped through the speakers.

“Um…” Mr. Fell said. “Well…”

The pile of steaming flesh heaved and twitched and Newt squeaked, pulling Anathema down with him as it burst, meaty chunks splattering across the walls.

“It exploded, dear,” the nun said brightly.

“Exploded?” Mr. Crowley squawked.

“At least it’s gone,” Mr. Fell said.

Rowley nodded, staggering in a circle. “Yeah,” he agreed, “but they’re still yapping.”

Newt peered at the orb again. “What if you were right?” he inquired. “What if they _are_ chanting?” He glanced at the nuns. “Can you translate?”

“Say no more!” the nun beamed at him and winked, then tapped a couple of controls on the panel beside Shadwell, leaning over in front of him. “There we go!”

“Grow, grow, grow, grow, grow–”

“Grow?” Both Mr. Crowley and Mr. Fell said at once.

“Are they talking to me?” Mr. Crowley said, then whirled around as the dog-things whimpered and scattered. “Er…”

“Oh god…” Anathema breathed.

“What?” Mr. Crowley demanded. “What is it?”

“Behind you!” Mr. Fell shouted. “Crowley, run!”

It took Newt a minute to realise what was going on. It looked like the wind had tossed the branches of the trees, but no. Definitely no. Just huge pieces of the foliage had _stood up_ like some kind of horrifying swamp thing and was charging at Mr. Crowley.

“What does it want?” Anathema exclaimed, jostling alongside Newt to see into the globe.

Fertiliser, Newt definitely didn’t think. “Dunno,” he definitely did say.

“Maybe you can wrangle it!” Mr. Fell called. “I mean, you’re very good with plants!”

“Not big fucking sentient monsters!” Crowley howled, scrambling up and over a root. “Get me out of here!” he wailed, racing through the undergrowth, the giant thing smashing its way after him. “Shadwell! Pull your finger out, you bastard!”

“I cannae!” Shadwell moaned. “I cannae do it. It’s no me, Tony! I’m no’ that man.”

“Course you bloody are! Only one of us who hasn’t changed!” Mr. Crowley dodged behind a tree, breathing hard. “Shadders, you’re the one who showed us how it was done! Hit your marks, didn’t miss a line. You gave that console a right kicking and it _worked_.”

“I dinnae think–”

“I’m not asking you to think, Shadders! I’m asking you to save my life! You can do it.”

“Can he?” Newt asked in a whisper.

Anathema gave him a wild-eyed look. “If I can fly a spaceship, who knows?”

Shadwell’s hands hovered over the control as Mr. Crowley took off running again. He was slowing down now, huffing and panting, and the plant was gaining on him.

And then the nun reached over and patted Shadwell on the hand. “Go on, pet. You can do it.”

To Newt’s astonishment, Shadwell blushed puce and slammed his hands across the controls, moving as fast as he ever had in the show. Buttons and gears slammed into place.

“Yes…” Mr. Fell breathed. “Good work, Shadwell.”

“Anyone?” Crowley squeaked over the communicator.

“Quickly,” Anathema muttered, staring at the plant creature looming over Mr. Crowley. “Quickly!”

“Ha!” Shadwell yelled and slapped a button.

The teleportation plates lit up like Christmas and the space Mr. Crowley had occupied in the orb was suddenly empty.

The room blazed bright white then went dark again.

Newt held his breath, squinting purple spots from his eyes.

“Crowley!” Mr. Fell’s voice cracked. “Oh, thank heavens.”

As the world came back into focus, Newt grinned at the sight of Mr. Fell slipping his arm around Mr. Crowley’s waist, holding him upright. Mr. Crowley was a right mess, hair all over the place, his uniform torn, but he was upright and he was grinning shakily too.

Fingers threaded between Newt’s and he glanced down, surprised, as Anathema squeezed his hand.

”Well done, Shadders,”Crowley wheezed. “Perfect timing.”

“Nae bother,” Shadwell said smugly and, oh god, he gave the nun a pleased look. “It’s like riding a bike.”

Mr. Fell patted Mr. Crowley’s chest gently with his other hand. “Now, aren’t you glad I didn’t let you take that clipping?”

Mr. Crowley started laughing, huge gulping guffaws, sagging against him. “Piss off, angel.” He glanced around. “The sphere. Did it work?”

“All systems are back online, Captain,” Prollix said, beaming.

“Good. Great. Get me the command deck so we can get home.”

Prollix nodded at once, touching the controls. Her expression shifted. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

Panicked glossy eyes looked around at them. “Things have gone a bit tits up,” she said, a split-second before the doors slid open and armed spiky aliens poured into the room, surrounding them at blasterpoint.

“Oh,” the Captain said. “Shit.”


	9. Chapter 9

Anathema wanted to throw up. Scream, too, but she had a feeling the spiky aliens would laugh.

They were being herded back up to the command deck like sheep, if shepherds needed blasters and guns to keep their sheep in check.

AJ had taken point, even though he was wobbling all over like Bambi on ice. Even more than usual. His shirt had holes and there were scratches all over him, but he’d stepped forward, said he was the Captain, and so they had to pretend like it was true.

Ezra was right behind him, pressing a hand to AJ’s back every time it looked like he might fall and getting a careful, grateful look every time he did.

“You all right?” Newt asked her in a whisper.

She glared at him. “What do you think?”

His face fell. “Yeah,” he mumbled, looking away. “Stupid question.”

Anathema winced. It wasn’t as if it was his fault. He wasn’t even meant to be there. He’d got dragged into it because he’d done them a favour, so they’d still get paid. She reached over the gap between them and gave his wrist a squeeze. “No. My bad.”

He glanced back at her, a weak smile tripping across his lips. “Theirs, I think,” he said with a nod to the nearest spiky alien.

Despite herself, she managed to laugh, but it faded as soon as they entered the command deck. Turned out that she _could_ throw up after all. She felt Newt’s hands steadying her as she folded over, adding to the mess of blood and… other stuff on the deck.

“So this is the new Captain.” Big red spiky alien standing over the mess on the command console was even bigger in person. She reached down into the slimy pile of tentacles and bits and pulled up a section. “Look, Sister. Your new friend is back.”

“Oh God…” Anathema breathed. That thing on the table had been – was still? – Garrulous.

“No,” Garrulous moaned. “Captain!”

AJ had gone grey. “Leave her alone!” he demanded, swaying even more.

Carmine tilted her head, beetle-black eyes fixed on his face, then dug her spiked pincers into Garrulous and twisted.

“No!” AJ lunged forward, only held back by Ezra, whose face was white with fury, his eyes blazing. “Stop it!”

“I’m open to negotiation,” Carmine said, as if she wasn’t elbow deep in blood and gore. “I want the Anti-C 11 and I want you to tell me exactly what it does and how to use it.”

AJ blanched. “I don’t know.”

Carmine twisted again and Garrulous screamed.

“I can do this as long as I need to, Captain.” Carmine smiled with long, sharp teeth. “You have a big crew and I’m a patient creature.”

“No… no, we can’t–”

“Crowley,” Ezra murmured, one hand on AJ’s back, the other steadying him.

Anathema darted a warily look from them to Carmine. The big spiky thing was watching them with amusement, and made a sharp gesture with long talons. Three of her minions grabbed at Ezra.

“No!” Anathema shouted, shoving her way through the ring of aliens.

“Angel!” AJ whipped around, but they were both crowded back by spikes and metal and sizzling blasters.

A shimmering blade was shoved up under Ezra’s throat, making him rise on his toes, a hiss of pain escaping him.

“Your mate, I see,” Carmine said lazily, stepping down between her fellows.

“Don’t you touch him!” AJ snarled, teeth bared in rage, struggling against one of the big spiky sons of bitches.

“Tell me what I want to know,” Carmine replied evenly, lifting a talon and stroking it with mocking gentleness down Ezra’s face. “Or maybe you’ll like his pretty face when I pluck out his eyes and make him eat them.”

“Look I don’t know!” AJ howled. “I can’t tell you because I don’t fucking know! I’m– we’re–” He sagged in the hold of the two big aliens. “Newt, get the computer to show them the historical documents.”

“But–”

“Now, Newt!” AJ snapped.

“Captain!” Garrulous moaned.

Anathema looked frantically at Newt, who shrugged helplessly. “Computer, show the historical documents.”

The screen lit up, playing the opening credits of the show and Anathema had to turn away, trying not to listen to Carmine’s mocking laughter. She clearly understood what their alien nuns hadn’t, her mandibles clacking with delight.

“Beautiful, Captain,” she crooned. “ _Beautiful._ You’ve done more damage with your playacting than I ever could.” She prowled over to him, grinning. “Explain to her.”

AJ shot a distressed look down at Garrulous. “Look, she doesn’t–”

Talons gripped his chin, squeezing, blood breaking through the skin. “Explain, Captain.” Carmine smiled at him. “I’m not in the mood for arguments.” She dragged him forward by his face, shoving him down over Garrulous. “Go on, Captain. Explain as if she was a child.”

AJ’s face crumpled in distress. “I’m sorry, Garrulous,” he said, voice shaking. “It’s not real. None of it’s real. My name… it’s not Captain Tobit. I’m an actor. Anthony Crowley. I… we… we pretend.” The mess that was Garrulous made a distressed sound of confusion and AJ reached to cautiously squeeze a tentacle. “We… we lied.”

Garrulous wailed, curling away from him.

“First time you brought me here, I didn’t realise,” AJ said, voice cracking. “Honestly, I didn’t. I thought it was a set – a fake version of this place. I didn’t know it was a real ship.”

“But you _have_ one!” Garrulous moaned, waving a tentacle towards the screen. “It’s there!”

“It’s a model,” AJ said, shaking his head. “I – I thought you knew. And then it was too late and you made all this amazing stuff and we… I… look, I’m a fraud. I just… this is all I had. And I didn’t want to disappoint you too.”

At the same time, Anathema said “AJ–” and Ezra gasped, “no, Crowley.”

Carmine looked delighted, if the feral grin on her face was anything to go by. “Well, this day hasn’t been a complete bust after all,” she said, laughing. “Man, I love wrecking peoples’ illusions before I kill them all.” She snapped a mandible. “Set the core to overload. They don’t have anything we need. We leave them as scrap metal.”

“You can’t!” Newt exclaimed.

“Ye deranged harpie!” Shadwell agreed.

Carmine just laughed.

“My people!” Garrulous cried. “Carmine, they have done nothing to deserve such a death.”

Carmine glanced back at her. “You’re right. That’s much too merciful.” She grinned at one her people. “Let them have a little air.”

“What?! NO!” AJ lunged at her.

Carmine spun like a top, whipping out one sharp hand and sent AJ flying. Ezra jerked himself free of the alien holding him, rushing to AJ’s side, touching his face and checking him for damage.

“Ezra! Is he–” Anathema’s words trailed off as Carmine strode towards her.

“He’ll live,” she said, “for as long as it takes for him to reach the airlock.” She clicked her teeth, snatching Anthema’s chin up in her hand. “A shame to waste such tender flesh, but a lesson must be learned.”

Anathema stared at her and then bit her hard.

___________________________________

“My dear, that really wasn’t the best decision.” Ezra murmured, as they were prodded on through the hallways at gunpoint.

Leaning heavily on Newton, Anathema grinned woozily. “Yeah, but did you see the look on her face?”

He had. The shocked outrage had almost been worth it until she’d backhanded Anathema and sent her spinning. The poor girl’s face was swollen and purple, but at least she felt she had scored a small point against their assailant.

“She’s yin of the bad yins,” Shadwell declared morosely from behind them, trailing along with the red-haired nun, who was clinging on to him as if he could offer her some kind of protection from the spiky fellows with the guns behind them.

“Well observed, Shadders,” Crowley mumbled tersely. He was on his feet, but he looked about as unsteady as Ezra felt. “Top marks for paying attention.”

Ezra reached out to squeeze his arm gently. “Pity we don’t have any daring escapes up our sleeve,” he murmured.

“No. Right. Escapes.”

Ahead of them, Ezra could see the airlock. It seemed an awfully silly thing to have such big doors, big enough to vent humans into space. But then it had been based on the ridiculous premises they’d had on the show, and he tightened his grip on Crowley’s arm. They exchanged a look and a flash of a taut grin slipped across Crowley’s face.

“Imagine,” Ezra exclaimed as emphatically as he could. “Imagine if you were only half as heroic as you tried to pretend to be!”

“ _Tried_?” Crowley wrenched his arm free, wheeling around to keep an eye on their guards. “Which of us won TV choice awards, _friend_?”

“Yes, well, if one takes ones shirt off one is bound to catch an eye or two as well as a cold!” Aziraphale retorted snidely. “They brought me in so at least one of the crew brought some real acting credentials!”

“Acting?” Crowley threw his arms wide, pointing emphatically to a pile of loose metal rods a few paces away. “Oh, it’s in-sodding-effable!” He shoved Ezra. “You call that acting!”

“I played–”

“Hamlet! Yes! We all know! Do you want some cheese with that whine?”

“You– you _fiend_!” Ezra launched himself at Crowley with aplomb, swinging in a rather impressive right hook. Which – oh bugger – connected. He winced as Crowley went arse over tit. But at least he landed beside the rods, just as one of the snarling guards grabbed at Ezra to haul him back.

“Angel! Drop!”

The metal bar swung a hair’s breadth over Ezra’s head, clocking the guard on the side of the head, but his companions were raising their guns and Ezra waved urgently to the rest of the crew, charging the nearest guard. Turned out several years of rugby had made an impression and the alien went smashing down, gun skittering away across the floor.

“Get them in!” Crowley ordered. “Quick!”

With some guns and poking, they managed to shove the guards into the airlock and Shadwell emphatically slapped the controls.

The doors slammed closed.

“That should hold them for–” Crowley began before muffled hiss from the other side of the doors made them turn slowly to Shadwell.

“Er…” Shadwell peered at the controls. “Didnae think that’d happen.”

Crowley stared at him. “Did you just jettison four aliens into space?”

Shadwell squinted at the screen. “Aye,” he finally said. “But seein’ as they were gonnae murder us, I’m no gonnae lose any sleep ower it.”

Ezra started laughing. He didn’t mean to, but it bubbled out of him and as soon as he started, Crowley dissolved into helpless laughter beside him, both of them reaching out to steady each other.

“I can’t believe that worked!” Ezra blurted out. “Those idiots!”

“I can’t believe you forgot how to pull your punches!” Crowley exclaimed, pointing at his bruised jaw. “You hit me harder than she did!”

Ezra winced, leaning closer to gently touch the swelling, checking for broken bones. “Well, you did insult my Hamlet.”

“Nah,” Crowley replied, smiling crookedly. “Insulted you. S’a difference.”

Ezra gazed at him fondly. “Of course.”

“Captain,” Newton said suddenly. “Look.”

Crowley turned and Ezra followed his line of sight, to the monitor Newton was working on at the wall. It showed the barracks and the nuns.

“They’ve vented the oxygen from the rooms,” he said. “They’re suffocating them.”

Crowley approached, touching the edge of the screen. “We’re helping them,” he said in a tone that brooked no refusal. “Get them out of there or stop the leak. The core overload – can we do anything to stop that from here?”

“This is only a monitoring console.” Newton shook his head. “If they’ve overridden the system to make the core implode, that means the computer control is offline. The core’d have to be shut down manually.” He tapped the screen again. “If we can open the barrack doors as well, that should buy some time. Mr. Shadwell might be able to get the computer back online in the transporter room as well. There’s meant to be a back-up.”

“Meant to be…” Crowley ran a hand over his face and when he straightened up, he looked more like Tobit than he had in a decade. “Right. We have no guarantees of anything here, so best option is to split up.” He glanced around. “We’ve got weapons, at least. Ezra and I can take the core. Newt you get Shadders back to transporter room, then get the barracks open.”

“What about me?” Anathema demanded. “I’m not sitting this one out.”

Crowley flashed a grin at her. “If we pull this off, we’ll need you to be our getaway driver. You think you can do refresher training?”

Anathema nodded fiercely. “Newt can get me set up.”

“Right!” Crowley gestured to the doors. “Go, go, go!”


	10. Chapter 10

“Quick! In here!”

Anathema ran after Newt as he dashed down the corridor and into a side room. They’d left Shadwell and Tracy hiding in a room further down the hall, but Newt had been sure he knew somewhere she could get on with her crash course.

And just like he’d said, there were computer-looking consoles all along the walls.

“How do you know all this?” she demanded as he sat down, switching one of them on.

He fidgeted, flushing. “I was really interested in the show,” he mumbled. “When it– when everything happened and the studio cancelled it–”

“Shut it down to shut everyone up, you mean,” Anathema said dryly.

He nodded, staring at the screen. “My family still had money in it. They got the set. The props. Bits and pieces.” He glanced up self-consciously. “I got them. I just…” He sighed. “It was a _good_ show. It didn’t deserve to end. None of you deserved what happened.”

“No,” she agreed. “We didn’t and your old man deserved everything he got.” She reached down and cautiously squeezed his shoulder. “It’s a good thing you did give a damn. We wouldn’t be able to get any of this working without you.”

He blinked owlishly at her, face turning red. “Um. Yes.” He turned back to the console, touching the buttons. “Um. Computer, activate the pilot training module.”

The screen lit up, reflecting in his glasses.

“You think I can do this?”

“If anyone can, it’ll be you.” He looked up at her with a small smile. “This is all based on you, after all. You just need to refresh your memory.” He slid out of the seat and motioned for her to take it. “I’ll get Mr. Shadwell to the control bay. I’ll have the computer keep the door shut to anyone except one of the crew.”

She smiled crookedly, wincing when her bruised cheek ached. “Lucky you can’t run out of battery up here, huh?”

He went red. “It’s funny,” he admitted. “Me and technology don’t always get along.” He waited until she sat down. “Here. Press this key to start.”

The viewscreen of the ship lit up the screen, with the controls in front of her just like they were on the command deck.

“Just like a video game, huh?” She turned to find his face close to hers.

“Exactly.” His smile was warm. “Remind me to show you my Atari when we get back to earth. I have the original game and sometimes, it still works.”

She stared at him, then kissed him quickly on the cheek. “For luck,” she mumbled, turning back to the screen.

“Nugh?” Newt said, reeling back.

“Go!” Her face war burning, but she couldn’t help smiling as she hit the control and started up the simulator.

______________________________________

“My dear.”

Crowley peered around the intersection of the corridors, then motioned for Ezra to follow him with his elbows, shifting his blaster against his chest. It felt like carrying a large metal baby, the sodding thing easily as long as his forearm. “What?”

“I don’t mean to rain on your parade when you’re doing such a splendid job and everything, but I don’t recall you ever mentioning doing an engineering degree of any kind.”

He stopped, turning to glare at Ezra, who looked back at him innocently. “Look, we’ve got limited hands here and out of the five of us, we’re the most likely to be able to do it.”

“Newton–”

“Newton needs to work the computers for everyone else,” Crowley retorted, hissing when a door opened further up the corridor. He grabbed Ezra, hustling them both into a narrow side passage that seemed to be utterly pointless in size and shape, barely big enough for two full grown men to fit into. He definitely didn’t think of any kind of euphemisms as their blasters pressed against each other.

“Don’t squeeze anything,” he hissed.

Ezra’s lips twitched and when it looked like he might speak and blow their cover, Crowley clamped a hand over his mouth, pressing a finger to his own lips. A couple of spiky aliens clattered passed in the hallway, disappearing with the hiss of another door.

“Thank you,” Ezra murmured against his palm.

Crowley rolled his eyes and cautiously leaned sideways to peek out into the hall. “Looks like we’re good to go.” He frowned at the amused expression on Ezra’s face. “What?”

“This little nook,” Ezra replied, waving around it. “Don’t you remember the wrap party on season three?”

It took a minute for the thought to surface, but when it did, it dredged up a furious blush with it. They had both been incredibly drunk and hiding out away from Agnes, squeezed into the gap and giggling over jelly shots. And–

“We don’t have time for reminiscing,” he mumbled, dashing off down the corridor. “Come on!”

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Ezra rushed after him.

He really, really didn’t, pausing and spinning on the spot at another identical corridor.

“Oh! Wait!” Ezra pattered away towards another door.

“Angel!” Crowley hurtled after him. “What the–”

Ezra beamed at him. “The armoury, darling,” he said. “It would probably be wiser to arm ourselves with something lighter these hefty guns.” He touched the control and the door slid wide, revealing lots and lots of very shiny weapons that looked identical to their small palm blasters from the show. “Much easier don’t you think?”

Crowley nodded, shutting the door behind them. “They’re smaller than I remember.”

Ezra set his gun down with a clatter. “Well, you know what they say: it’s not the size that matters, but how you pull your trigger.”

“Angel!” Crowley gasped, torn between affronted and delighted. He claimed one of the smaller blasters, barely bigger than his phone. “How did you know this was the armoury, anyway?”

On the far side of the room, Ezra continued to rattle through chests and boxes. “When you were having your tantrum on the floor the other day, that lovely young man was asking me some very thorough questions about the layout of the ship. I noticed we were on the same floor.”

“Layout of the– wait, that kid has the blueprints?”

“Oh, yes.” Ezra popped up with a triumphant cry, a long metal cylinder gripped in his hand. “Aha!”

Crowley took a wary step back. “Oh no. No, no, no…”

“Oh, _yes_!” Ezra crowed exultantly and pressed a button.

The metal tube hummed and a glowing laser blade shot out, snapping and flaming in front of him, the golden flare lighting up Ezra’s face.

“No!” Crowley squawked. “No! You don’t even know how to use a sword, especially not some…. weirdo alien burnie one!”

Ezra’s face twisted like he’d bitten a lemon. “I’ll have you know I did several intensive years of stage combat,” he said, but he flicked the switch and the blade winked out. “Anyway, I don’t really agree with guns, even if they’re not real guns at all.” He looked at Crowley expectantly. “So, where do we go from here?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s only a few corridors away.”

Ezra eyed him doubtfully. “This would be an awfully convenient time to get in touch with Adam,” he said, as they headed towards the door.

“Adam?”

“Our friend you were very rude to,” Ezra replied, damn near barrelling into his back as he peeked out through the door. “And then you bashed into him at the fete as well. Barely even apo–”

Crowley riffled through his memories. They’d all been a bit frantic after his first trip to the ship and he hadn’t even paid any attention to the children in his haste to get to Ezra. “Wait, the kid in the tent? That was Adam? The know-it-all? And he knows all about the ship?”

“Yes, but you hardly need to call him that.”

Crowley grinned. “No, angel,” he said, reaching for his vox. “I think I really do.”

_________________________________

“Oh no.” The lovely pink bubble Newt had been floating on – anchored by a kiss on the cheek –evaporated.

“Whit, lad?”

He leaned back from the pane overlooking the control room, heart sinking. “There are loads of them down there.” He glanced back at Shadwell and the nun. “It looks like they’ve found a stash of beer.”

“They never!” Shadwell gasped, shoving Newt to the side to peer through the pane. “Those thieving bastards! I’ll wring their spiky wee necks!”

“Now don’t get overexcited, Mr. S,” Tracy said, leaning in and gently squeezing his shoulder. “Don’t want to be giving yourself a turn, eh?” She turned thickly-mascaraed eyes to Newt. “What shall we do, dear? We need to get to the controls and I don’t think there are enough of us to chase them off.”

The heavy alien gun slung over his shoulder was digging in. “I could go in,” he said slowly, trying to work out what exactly he could go in and _do_. He could barely lift the gun to begin with, let alone use it. “I mean, we just need to get them out of there. Maybe I could make them chase me?”

Although, even as he said it, he knew it wouldn’t work. There were too many and they weren’t stupid enough to leave the main hub undefended.

“And we can’t have you putting yourself in danger, dear,” Tracy said sternly. “Not a young thing like you.”

“Wish we could make something chase _them_ ,” Shadwell said, a mad gleam in his eyes. “Like they dug hingies on the planet. Teach them no to go pilfering some other man’s bevvies.”

Newt stared at him. “That… that could work…”

“Eh?”

The control room was off limits until they got rid of the armed aliens, but the transporter room wasn’t.

Newt pulled Shadwell around to face him urgently. “Mr. Shadwell, do you remember how you got Mr. Crowley off that planet? Would you be able to do it again?”

Shadwell’s face crumpled up. “Aye, it could be done.” He frowned. “What do ye have in mind?”

Newt grinned and explained.

Shadwell stared at him. “Ye have a cunning wee brain, Pulsifer.” He glanced at the control room. “But what about they other wee nuns?”

“I’ll try and get the doors open manually if I can or at least crack them a bit to buy them some time,” Newt replied. “Tracy, you get Mr. Shadwell to the transporter room and do what you can.”

The nun beamed, slipping her arm through Shadwell’s. “I’ll take good care of him, love,” she said. “Now, you be careful.”

Newt nodded, swinging the hefty gun around from his shoulder and hurrying off in the direction of the barracks, heart thundering.

___________________________________________

Despite the fact that every corridor in the ship looked practically identical, Crowley’s idea to outsource navigation was working. After the initial babbling screeches from the four children, they had started directing them like professionals.

“Right, Adam,” Crowley barked into the vox. “We’re at the end of the corridor. We’ve got three doors in front of us.”

“You want the middle one!” The girl’s voice piped out of the voice. “That’ll take you down to the primary engineering hub. It’s the quickest way to access the ventilation ducts.”

“Ventilation ducts?” Ezra groaned, trotting along beside him. “For Heaven’s sake, why is it always ventilation ducts?”

Crowley flashed him a winning smile. “Don’t tell me you don’t like getting on your hands and knees, angel?”

“Crowley!” The heat bloomed up Ezra’s cheeks and he definitely absolutely did _not_ smile.

The absolute rascal of a man winked at him. “Okay. Pepper, was it?”

“Yeah!”

“There’s a door with a passcode.”

“Wensley?” Pepper demanded. “You know the codes.”

“Right it’s–”

A clatter behind them made Ezra turn, but too late. A flash and sizzle filled the air and Crowley gave a yelp of pain. Ezra dropped to catch him as he fell and more flashes and sizzles crackled overhead, blasts of smoking light splashing across the sealed door.

Crowley wrenched up his hand, firing back with his blaster, clutching at his side with his other hand. “Fuck!”

Ducking under his arm, Ezra ripped aside the burned uniform. A palm-wide burn scorched its way across the side of Crowley’s ribcage, his chest rising and falling with frantic breaths.

“No bleeding,” he managed to say, though his hands were shaking as he palpated the edge of the wound. “Looks like it only grazed you.”

“Only! Grazed!” Crowley croaked, firing off another blast over Ezra’s shoulder, the crackle of the blaster so close to his ear heartstopping. “Shit shit shit shit…”

Ezra frantically riffled through the pack on his belt. They said he was a doctor, so surely…

“Aha!” It was some kind of medical package. A steri-strip. Or something. “Hold still!”

“You don’t know what that is!” Crowley protested, trying to squirm away.

“I know we need to sterilise the wound,” Ezra snapped. “Keep them off us and let me work!”

Crowley stared at him, then nodded, balanced his trembling arm on Ezra’s shoulder and pulling the trigger over and over. Desperate, yes, but when one was caught in a bottle-neck, one didn’t really have much of a choice.

The package seemed self-explanatory, but Ezra had to frantically tear at it with his teeth to get it open. The gauzy mesh inside was slick and cool to the touch. He pulled it open, like some kind of Halloween cobweb decoration, and dropped it down over the ruby-red blister.

“Oh!” Crowley sounded more surprised than pained.

“How’s that?” Ezra demanded, smoothing it in place.

“Numby,” Crowley said, wincing as he sat up a bit. “Shit.”

“What?”

“My blaster. Running out of… well… blasts. Little light went yellow. Red soon.”

It was astonishing how simple some decisions could be. Crowley was running out of the means to defend them, which meant that he only really had one option. He caught Crowley’s face in his hand. “If you die before we get home, I’ll never talk to you again.”

And before Crowley could speak, grab him or stop him, Ezra spun and rose to his feet, unhooking the flaming sabre from his belt.

“Angel! Don’t.”

Ezra smiled grimly. “Don’t worry, dear. Once you’ve learned to do it, you never forget.”

He ignited the sword and charged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice I'm having to play a bit fast and loose with the film canon. This is what happens when you have one less character and change the shipping forecast.


	11. Chapter 11

As much as Newt hated to admit it, he’d always been very good at not being noticed. Not a great skill when you were from a show-business family, but fantastic for sneaking through the corridors of a space ship to save alien friends from certain death.

Most of Carmine’s soldiers seemed to be in the control room, which was good, but every so often, he had to dash sideways into a room to hide when he saw shadows on the wall.

Fourth time, he dodged into a room and almost wet himself in fright when he collided with another body. He swung around, fists up. Or sort of. He’d never punched anyone, so he waved them vaguely at the other person.

“Mr. Newt!”

Newt’s breath exploded out of him. “Eric? What the hell are you doing here?”

The alien grabbed him, pinning him back against the wall, pressing a bony finger against his mouth. He was muttering under his breath and Newt was pretty sure he heard the words “ceiling cat” and “cheezburger” in there.

In the hall, Carmine’s soldiers clattered by, snarling and shouting.

When all was quiet again, he tugged Eric’s hand down from his mouth. “We need to get to the barracks,” he whispered. “We’re trying to save the Sisters.”

“Ermegerd!” Eric looked alarmed. “One does not simply walk into the barracks.”

Newt blinked at him. “Why not?”

The little alien winced. “It– they–” He flapped a fishnet-gloved hand. “They’re still out there!”

“Yeah, but no one’s spotted us so far, have they?” Newt pointed out. “You and me, we’re good at not being noticed.”

Eric’s face twisted up. “I wanted the opposite of this,” he grumbled, but nodded. “D’you really think we can help?”

“We’ve got to do _something_.” Newt leaned out to peek into the hall. “What’s the quickest way to get there?”

Eric scratched behind his ear. “North corridor,” he said after a moment of thought.” He peered down at the weapon in Newt’s hands. “D’you know how to use that?”

“Point and click, I think,” Newt admitted sheepishly. “Don’t know. Not really big on killing people where I come from. You?”

“Nah.” Eric trotted out into the corridor. “F’we see anyone, just hit them with it instead.”

Newt grinned crookedly. “Probably more likely,” he admitted.

Together, they snuck off through the halls.

______________________________

“Where did that–”

Ezra flapped his hand, shooing Crowley onwards. “Stop shilly-shallying,” he urged. “We’re on a bit of a tight schedule.”

“But you just–”

“Yes, I just gave them a good drubbing. I told you I’d had some training.” Ezra paused when Crowley stopped dead so suddenly that they almost had a buttock-to-face collision. Crowley’s bum was directly in front of him in its very fitted uniform. “Oh for Heaven’s sake, stop stopping!”

Crowley kicked back a foot to smack him on the arm. “Four way junction, Adam. Which way?”

“Left,” the boy’s voice echoed through the ducts and Crowley started moving again. “But there’s a bit of a dro–”

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii–” Crowley’s legs flailed and vanished.

“Crowley!” Ezra scrambled up around the corner, peering down an infinitely dark pipe that dropped away down below. “Crowley? Can you hear me?”

“I’m gonna kill him!” Crowley howled back up.

“How bad is it?”

There was a brief silence. “Slide down. Hands and feet out. Should be fine!”

The pipe turned out to have a reasonable incline and by the time he saw light, Ezra tucked his hands in and slid the rest of the way down, popping out into a dull grey metal room, where Crowley was working on prying a panel off the wall.

“We need to get through here,” he said over his shoulder. “D’you think your sword could chop it up?”

“We can try.”

The sword cut through the wall like a plasma knife through butter.

“Gosh.” Ezra examined it appreciatively. “You know, this would be really useful for toast.”

Crowley gave a great snort as he pulled the panels aside, leaving an opening big enough for them to crawl through. “Toast? You have a lazer sword and just gave two aliens a hiding with it and you think you’ve got the fanciest toaster?”

“Think about it,” Ezra replied, crawling in after him. “You could slice the bread and toast it at the same time!”

Crowley dropped down on the other side, offering up a hand to help Ezra down, so casually gallant that Ezra had to hide a smile. “Yeah, but then the end of your loaf is toasted and would go rock hard. Or it might just set the whole thing on fire. Y’don’t know.” He dusted himself down, then looked around. “Right, Adam,” he said into the vox. “We’re in the room. Where from here?”

“Go through the door at the end,” the boy said, “and straight through the chompers.”

“Chompers?” Ezra echoed, as they headed for the door. “That sounds rather alarming.”

“Nah,” Crowley waved a hand. “Probably just some…”

Nearer the door, they could hear the systematic crunch of metal thumping into metal.

“Nope.”

“Crowley!” Ezra pressed a palm against the base of his back. “We can’t stop now.”

The door opened into what looked like the inside of a giant printing press, blocks and panels bashing down rhythmically from the ceiling for no apparently reason. A gout of flame surged out making Crowley yelp and jump back a step, almost landing on Ezra’s feet.

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded in a screech. “What is the _point_ of this?”

“Well, it was in the show, wasn’t it?” Ezra said, grimacing as he pushed Crowley gently out onto the little bit of floor that wasn’t being crushed or singed. “The ladies upstairs have been very particular.”

“Yeah, but what,” Crowley demanded, sounding increasingly hysterical, “is the point?” He flailed towards it. “Look! Look at it! It’s chompy and on fire and there’s nothing to squish or burn _except us_!” He swung around, heading back for the door. “Nope, nope, nope!”

Ezra stuck out his arm to catch him. “We don’t have a choice! We’ll all die if we don’t!”

“Fuck that!” Crowley howled. “This episode was badly written!”

Ezra wrapped his arm resolutely around his waist. “Take it up with your agent!” He snatched the vox from Crowley. “Adam, we may need some guidance.”

“Right.” There was silence for a moment, then another boy came on the radio.

“Got the sequence here, Mr. Fell!”

Crowley gave him a plaintive look. “We’re really going through?”

“Together,” Ezra said and, on the boy’s mark, stepped them both forward.

__________________________________

The pilot training module was like a really bad video game, but Anathema was starting to get the hang of things.

Now that she had a few seconds of quiet and time to look over the controls, it was all coming back: this one for speed, that one for boost, these grips for sharp turns, those ones for wider turns. But there was a section of the training module that flashed up new buttons on the screen, ones she had never seen before.

“The hell?” she murmured, peering at the descriptions.

She scrolled through them, one after another. Some of them were self-explanatory, combining different sets of manoeuvers into one, but some of the others…

“That can’t be possible…”

If the instruction module was like a video game, she had a feeling she’d just found the cheat codes for the next level.

Well, if she was going to fly the damn thing, she just had to take all the help she could get.

_______________________________________

One of them was vibrating and frankly, Crowley wasn’t sure which one it was.

“Never again,” he croaked, as they caught their breath at the far end of the chompers.

Quite how he’d ended up halfway into Ezra’s arms and almost carried the length of the corridor – reducing their dimensions? Yeah. That sounded reasonable. Making them take less space – he wasn’t sure, but they’d made it through.

“Yes, it was a little close, wasn’t it?” Ezra’s cheeks were flushed and he leaned against the wall beside him, breathing hard. He lifted the vox to his mouth. “Where from here, my dears?”

“Oh, this is easy,” one of the boys said. “Straight through the doorway.”

“Is that all?”

Crowley flapped a hand frantically. “Don’t _jinx_ us, you idiot!”

“The reactor’s just through there,” Adam said brightly. “You just need to shut it down.”

Ezra’s face fell. “Ah.”

Crowley gave him a look, spreading his hands in a dramatic gesture of I Told You So.

“Oh do be quiet, dear.” Ezra straightened up from the wall. “I don’t suppose you know how to switch it off, do you, Adam?”

“Pfft.” The boy laughed. “Yeah. Obvious. You press the button.”

Ezra smiled primly. “You see, Crowley? Nothing to worry about.” He hooked a hand under Crowley’s arm, steadying him. “We’re almost done.”

Crowley leaned into him as the door slid open. “Bet there are hundreds of buttons,” he said, unable to resist poking. “Thousands, even. Bet we won’t be able to find the right one.”

“Or it might just be that big blue one on the plinth,” Ezra said wryly, nodding into the room.

And – bugger him – he was right. The shiny metal room was almost bare, except for a viewing orb and the giant blue button on a white pillar, a countdown clock flicking down beside it.

“It can’t be this easy.”

“Adam,” Ezra inquired, “When you say the button, you mean the big blue one?”

There was no response, then Adam blurted out, “Yeah! Sorry! Mum’s called us down for dinner. We’ll be back in a minute.”

“Well, you heard him!” Crowley bolted forward. Countdown was already at thirty seconds and ticking. If they’d been any later…

“You do the honours,” Ezra said, smiling. “I’ve had quite enough adventure.”

With a flourish, Crowley slapped the button.

  1. 27\. 26.



His heart dropped and he spun frantically to Ezra. “It’s not stopping!”

Ezra rushed to his side, pressing the button down again and again. “No! It has to!” He called into vox. “Adam! Adam! Something’s the matter! It’s not working!” His wide eyes were suddenly terrified. “Do something!”

Crowley circled it, searching for any other option, any other button, slapping at the pillar, kicking the sodding thing. Tick, tick, tick went the clock. “Can’t do anything,” he said, voice cracking. “We’re fucked.”

“Oh.”

He looked helplessly at Ezra. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. If I hadn’t got us pulled up here–”

Ezra’s pale face broke into a frail smile. “Oh don’t be silly, darling. You just wanted to help people. You always do. Just like you did with Agnes and with all of us.” He sighed, giving Crowley a pat on the shoulder with one of his perfectly manicured hands. “I always knew that you were, deep down, a little bit good.”

Crowly exhaled a shivering laugh. “And you always were a bit of a bastard, eh?” His eyes flicked to the countdown. Getting lower now. “Angel, I–”

“Oh, shut up, Crowley,” Ezra snapped impatiently and pulled him into an urgent kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if anyone got multiple notifications. AO3 was playing silly buggers and first said chapter 12 hadn't uploaded, so when I tried again, it created chapter 13 in order to embarrass me, because actually, chapter 12 just showed up.

As ways to die went, Crowley had to admit that being manhandled by Ezra while they snogged each other silly was a comparatively good one. The space part, less so, but you had to work with what you had. Ezra’s hair was as soft as he remembered and Crowley moaned as broad, firm hands hoisted him up to sit on the console, Ezra slotting himself between his legs.

Not much you could do in 20 seconds, but pawing at each other like randy teenagers was good enough. He wrapped his legs around Ezra’s waist, yanking him closer.

“Mr. Fell?”

Crowley grumbled, swatting at the vox with one hand.

Annoyingly, Ezra broke away from the kiss, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed. “Adam!” He lifted the vox to his mouth – stupid waste of a mouth, doing that. “Yes, dear boy. We’re here. The reactor didn’t shut down.”

“Should’ve done,” Adam said, sounding puzzled. “D’you press the big button?”

“We did,” Crowley said, “but there’s a…” He frowned at Ezra. “Wait. The timer. It should’ve gone off by now.” He loosened his legs from around Ezra’s hips and both of them pushed off from the console, hurrying back to the console with the timer.

The clock showed 1.

“I don’t understand,” Ezra murmured. “It _was_ counting down. Why would it…” His eyes met Crowley’s. “Because it always stopped at one on the show, didn’t it?” He made a small, stifled sound, staggering against the console. “Oh good lord…”

Crowley’s legs shook under him and he clutched at Ezra’s arm. “Jesus Christ on a carousel,” he gasped out. “We not dead. We’re _not_ dead.”

Ezra broke into his shaking laughter, the kind he always did when he’d had a fright or an unpleasant surprise. “Obviously.” His arm whipped out and he pulled Crowley back into his arms with a yip of surprise, squeezing the breath from his body.

“You’re all right,” he rasped in Ezra’s ear, not sure which of them was holding each other up more. He rubbed his hand in a circle on Ezra’s back. “And you pick your moments to turn into a randy bastard.”

He felt the vibration of Ezra’s chuckles against his ribs.

“We should get back to the others,” Ezra murmured, stepping back, though his hand wandered down to catch Crowley’s and Crowley felt all kinds of stupid, warm, soft feelings which he promptly disguised with a groan and eyeroll. “Adam, would you be a dear and give us some directions? I don’t think we can get back the way we came.”

“Just a second.” The conversation on the vox turned muffled.

Crowley looked down at their joined hands, his own fingers naturally threaded through Ezra’s, as if they belonged there. “Angel,” he began.

To his surprise and pleasure, Ezra’s cheeks flushed. “Nothing like the end of times to make you appreciate what’s right in front of you,” he murmured and gave Crowley’s hand a firm squeeze.

Crowley’s heart flipped. “Yeah? But you said–”

“I said a lot of things,” Ezra replied quietly, “but why should we both be miserable because other people call it unprofessional?” He lifted Crowley’s hand as if he was Gomez in the Addams’ Family, and kissed his knuckles. “Let me take you to dinner some time. The Ritz. Or a picnic, if we ever get back to a place with gardens.”

“Ngh.” Crowley agreed coherently.

“Mr. Fell?”

Ezra lifted the vox. “We’re here, my dear.”

“There’s a door on the opposite the one you came through. F’you go through there, you should be able to get to a lift.”

Reluctantly, Crowley disengaged their hands, jogging over to open the door. Fingers still felt all tingly, but he wasn’t about to admit that out loud. “One problem down,” he said. “You don’t know how we can fire the Anti-C and blow this alien baddie out the sky?”

“Fire the anti-C?” Pepper demanded. “Are you daft? What good would that do?”

Crowley frowned. “It’s a bomb, isn’t it?”

“Actually,” one of the two not-Adams said, “it’s a quantum device, according to information in a few of the comics.”

“And hardly of use to us,” Ezra said as they headed towards Adam’s advertised lift.

“Only if you want to stop time for a few seconds.”

Crowley punched the controls and the lift shot them upwards. “A few seconds? Bit pointless, isn’t it?”

“It’s quantum,” the boy said. “Like if you need a few seconds more to defuse a bomb or something.”

Crowley glanced at Ezra with a crooked smile. “Not the bombs on these ships.”

The lift slid to a halt and the doors hissed open.

And five screaming spiky aliens thundered passed in the hallway.

“What on–”

A blood-chilling shriek made Crowley slap at every button on the controller to get them up, higher, away. “Nope, nope, nope.”

As the doors slammed shut again, the plant monster from the sphere-planet thundered by, bellowing in rage, tangled shoots and branches lashing out after the aliens.

“What the hell is that thing doing here?” Crowley croaked, leaning against the doors.

“Shadwell,” Ezra growled.

Oh. Right. Yep. Of course. He was the only bastard mad enough to napalm his house to get rid of a rat infestation.

“Well…” Crowley gave him a helpless grin. “At least he got rid of the bad guys?”

Ezra’s lips twitched in a manful attempt at suppressing a smile. “Oh do be quiet.”

________________________________________

“It’s not working!” Newt tried pressing down on the crowbar to push the barrack door up. On the other side of the glass-like stuff, the nuns were scattered around like bits of paper in the wind and so far, Mr. Shadwell hadn’t managed to get them open either.

Eric bounced anxiously on his toes. “Can I try something?”

Newt threw up his hands. “Honestly, I’m willing to give anything a go at this point,” he said, then yelped in surprise when the little alien scrambled up his body. “What are you doing??”

Balancing on Newt’s shoulders, Eric gave him a quick grin. “I don’t always try and commit acts of reckless endangerment,” he said, “but when I do, I do it with style.”

And the mad little creature cannonballed his full weight down on the crowbar.

The gust of cold air as they broke the seal of the room made newt yell in delight. “You did it! You opened it.”

Eric scrambled up, dusting himself down. “Is that enough?”

Newt stood on the bar to keep the door as far up as he could. “Until Mr. Shadwell can get–”

A burst of light and noise from the end of the hall made him jump and Eric fell into him, throwing him off-balance. As if someone had pushed him. He caught the little alien and felt hot wetness spilling over his hands.

Beyond him, a spiky alien was reloading his weapon.

Stumbling back, Newt dragged him into the shelter of a doorway. “Eric!”

“Oh.” Eric blinked up at him. “Ow.”

“You okay?” Newt searched his back. There was a nasty burn and sharp bits of bone and wet stuff and god, he wanted to be sick. “Doesn’t seem too bad,” he lied.

Eric stared up at him. “Don’t be sad,” he said. “Ceiling cat watches over me.”

Newt shook his head. “We can get you to the medical bay.” His voice was shaking and Eric was bleeding all over the deck. “Get you patched up.”

“You were–” Eric hissed in pain, clutching at his arm. “You were never. Never patched. Never med bayed.”

“I wasn’t,” Newt agreed in a hoarse whisper, “but it was pretend. It was all pretend.” He frantically tried to remember anything from the show, anything that he could say that could be comforting or reassuring. But nothing was there. Nothing but old memes that the little alien had been so excited about. And he knew what he had to say. He pressed his hand to Eric’s chest. “Eric,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “You can haz cheeseburger.”

Eric gave a happy laugh that turned into a rasping sigh, going slack in his arms. And as if he’d never been there, he crumbled away into dust.

Newt turned over his hands, shaking and wet. Someone had shot him. Someone had shot the most harmless innocent little creature on the ship. He staggered to his feet, swinging the gun down from his shoulder. Didn’t know how to use it, but he remembered Eric’s advice: we just hit them with it instead.

And, swinging the thing like a cricket bat, he charged out, yelling, “HE CAN HAZ CHEESEBURGER!”

____________________________________

“About time!” Anathema exclaimed when Ezra and AJ finally showed up at the bridge.

AJ ran to his chair. “Have you been here the whole time?”

She made a face at him. “Just got back. Shadwell let me know the ship was clear.” She shifted the controls into combat positions. “We need to get moving. Ezra, you need to let engineering know you’re here.”

“What are you doing?” AJ inquired. “Why are the handles sticking out like that?”

Anathema shot a grin over her shoulder. “You told me to learn to fly, so I did.” She nodded to his seat. “You might wanna sit down.”

“Oh good God!” Ezra squawked. “Good Heavens, man! Put that away!”

A throaty chuckle boomed across the speakers, overlaid by Shadwell’s hoarse voice. “Ye dinnae understand, lad.” He sounded half-baked and deliriously happy about it. “I was right all along! She _probed_ me.”

“Oh for fuck’s–” AJ slapped the comm on the arm of his chair. “Shadders! Put your cock away, you filthy bastard! We need to go!” He glanced around. “Where’s lizard?”

“Newt,” Anathema corrected, adjusting her straps.

“Here, Captain.”

She glanced back with a relieved smile, which slid off her face. His uniform was torn down one arm and soaked in gore. “You’re bleeding.”

He slid into the seat behind her. “Not mine.” His hand curled over the back of her seat. “You ready?”

She bared her teeth in a feral grin and hit the thrusters.

The training module had explained so much of the controls and now, dipping and weaving between the mines in the minefield was like stepping around obstacles in the street, she set them spiralling up deeper into the minefield and away from Carmine’s ship.

“Wait!” AJ said suddenly. “We need to deal with her. If we don’t, she’ll just keep coming. We can’t leave the Sisters at her mercy.”

“Way ahead of you,” Anathema said, slapping her hand against the control. “The ship doesn’t have anything in the armoury strong enough to take out her ship.” She flicked several switches, swinging them back around. “We’re in a high-speed science lab, not a gun ship. We need to get armed.”

Her fingers danced across the controls, flicking on the vortex and adjusting the polarity.

“Wait,” AJ sounded stunned. “You’re not going to–”

“Do unto them as I did to your car?” Anathema grinned. “Hell yes.”

“Oh no!” Ezra groaned. “Anathema, dear, we won’t be able to take the impact! Our shields are already considerably lower than they should be.”

“We won’t be hitting it,” AJ said and she could hear the grin in his voice. “Take thine holy hand-grenades and blow the enemy to tiny bits, eh?”

“You got it.” She grabbed both the controllers. “Strap in. It’s about to get bumpy.”

The ship surged forward and she threw them into a spin, the vortex mechanism creating a vacuum, whirling up the magnetic mines in their wake. She pushed forward the controller, increasing the speed just enough to keep ahead of their explosive tail.

“AJ?”

“Yeah?”

Anathema glanced over at him from the corner of her eye. “You think you could distract Carmine, so she doesn’t notice what we’re up to?”

AJ gave a crack of laughter. “Yes. Yes, I can. Ezra, patch me through to Commandant Spiky.”

“At last, your perfect role,” Ezra quipped.

The screen was suddenly full of spiked red alien.

“Carmine!” AJ called out, ebulliently. “Good to see you!”

The shock on her face was more than worth it. “ _You_.”

“The one and only.” AJ sounded like he was having the time of his life. “Got to thank you for the refresher training. It’s been a while for me and my crew, but you got us back in top form! Did any of your lads hit you on the way out?”

Carmine bared her razor-teeth. “You’re going to pay for this insolence.”

“Yeah, no, we’re really not,” AJ laughed. “Let me tell you why – we might be a bit slapdash and out of practise, but when it comes down to it, we _always_ stop people like you. We’re a walking disaster, but we’re on our own side and we’ll do whatever we have to to keep it that way.”

“Ha!” Carmine leaned into the screen. “You think charging at me on a suicide run is going to save your little minions? My ship has ten times the defences, an armoury that could tear you to pieces, and the _second_ you clear that mine field, we’ll show you exactly what a mistake you’ve made.”

They were close now and Anathema checked trajectory and adjusted the vortex control. She snapped her fingers to get AJ’s attention and nodded that they were good to go.

“Carmine,” AJ said, sounding too pleased with himself.

“What?” she snarled.

“Duck!”

Anathema yank both controllers hard and back, pulling the ship into a sharp incline as they shot out of the field. With a swat to the screen, she disconnected the vortex, flipping to another viewcam, and gave a shout of delight as momentum sent the whirling mass of mines straight at Carmine’s vast ship.

Carmine’s expression changed a second before her screen blacked out.

Anathema whooped as they soared upwards, into the stars, and far below, the enemy ship exploded in flames.


	13. Chapter 13

“We did it!” Anathema was on her feet and hugging the lizard-boy. “She’s gone!”

Crowley shot a wide grin over at Ezra who had sagged back in his chair, a bit green around the gills, but smiling widely. “Pretty good, eh?”

Ezra’s lips twitched. “Oh yes. You were very good at annoying her.”

It was enough to make Crowley burst out laughing and he twisted in the seat when the doors opened and a cascade of nuns poured in. “Garrulous!” He shot to his feet, astonished, offering a hand to their hobbling leader to help her over to the Captain’s chair. “You’re all right?”

“Right as rain, Captain!” The nun beamed at him, despite the bruises and cuts on her face and the walking stick she was leaning on. “And you’ve defeated Carmine in battle!” She gave him a very deliberate wink. “It’s just a model.”

He couldn’t help wincing. “I mean, it _was_.”

She winked hugely again. “Say no more.”

“And you got rid of all the nasty buggers on the ship,” another nun said.

Crowley spun to find the speaker, then yelped. She was holding one of the bloody dog things! The space dogs! “What the hell is that doing here?”

Sister Mary cuddled the thing, which wriggled happily in her arms. “Mr. Shadwell accidentally scooped him up to when he brought the herbivore up from the planet,” she said. “And he’s a good boy, aren’t you?” She scratched its nose as if it couldn’t expand to death on paws. “Yes, you are. You’re a wovewy widdle boy, yes, you are.”

Crowley eyed it warily. “Yeah. Right. Course.” He glanced over at Anathema, who was back in her seat, blushing more than she had been a few seconds earlier. “Ana, you think you can steer us back in the direction of home?”

“Pfft! No problem!”

“Newton.” Ezra sounded puzzled. “Could you come over here for a moment?”

“Something up, angel?” Crowley inquired.

Ezra glanced at him as Newt loped across the deck to his side. “There was a bit of a spike in the energy from Carmine’s ship and I can’t make hide nor hair of it.” He pointed on the screen and Newt frowned, leaning closer.

“Huh. That looks a bit–”

Crowley left them to puzzle over it when the door of the bridge opened again and the last of their crew marched in. “Shadders?”

Shadwell gave him a militarily precise nod. “Aye, Captain.”

Well, that was weird. “Shouldn’t you be in eng–”

Shadwell pulled both hands from behind his back. Laser guns! Big fuck-off laser guns!

“Computer!” Crowley yelled as Shadwell raised them, aiming at Anathema and Ezra. “Activate Anti-C 11!”

For once, the sodding machine listened, but Shadwell’s laser guns fired, the bolts sizzling through the air and–

Stopped. Not a sound. Not even the hum of the engine.

Crowley stared around wildly. The rods of light weren’t moving. No one was moving. Only thing moving was a countdown clock on the big screen. 11. 10–

He ran, shoving Newt and Ezra over onto the floor, then bolted back to toss Anathema off her seat. 4 seconds.

Bright bolts in Shadwell’s guns. Second shots. Crowley ran towards him, twisting both his hands inwards so the muzzles were facing each other and dived and rolled behind a console as the counter hit zero.

Sound crashed back in, filled with surprised and confused yells and then an almighty explosion and the crash of a body slamming into the bulkhead. He scrambled up to his knees, peering over the console.

“Carmine!” screeched several of the nuns.

Where Shadwell had been, Carmine was staggering upright. A shimmering holographic projection of Shadwell’s legs was still shimmering around her feet. Her lasers were in fragments on the floor, the grips still clutched in her bloody hands and she snarled, lunging towards Crowley.

“Oi!” Someone swung a long metal rod, knocking her flying. “None of that!” Garrulous took another few wobbling steps and bashed her a few more times for good measure. “And stay down, you naughty thing!”

Crowley straightened up shakily.

“When did she get here?” Ezra demanded. “What happened? Why was I on the floor?”

Newt stared at the screen. “The Anti-C.” Wide eyes turned to Crowley. “You _used_ it?”

Crowley nodded, breathing hard. “Had to.”

“So it was of use to us after all,” Ezra murmured. He looked Crowley up and down. “And from the state of you, no one got to see your dashing heroics!”

Crowley laughed, flapping a hand. “Nah. Don’t need an audience.”

Ezra smiled primly. “Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

God, Crowley adored the bastard.

“AJ!”

Crowley swung around to Anathema. “Call it compensation for the Bent–”

“We’re coming in too fast!” she snapped, gesturing to her screen.

“That’ll be the size of the ship,” Garrulous said behind him. “It’s too big to go through your atmosphere without breaking up. We’ll have to detach if you want to make a safe landing.”

Crowley stared at the view-screen then nodded. “We’ll get out of your hair, then.” He snapped his fingers to get everyone’s attention. “Ezra, let Shadders know we’re heading home and he needs to get up here. Ana, slow us down as much as you can. Newt… er… do something useful.” He turned back to Garrulous, who looked like someone had kicked her puppy into the sun. “You’ll be all right, Garrulous. Carmine’s out of the picture now. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Garrulous gave him a crooked smile. “But we have no Captain to lead us.”

He stared at her, the alien who had suffered torture and almost been killed and never betrayed her people. “They’ve got _you_.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You just do what we would do and you’ll be fine.”

Around them, the other Sisters came to attention, beaming, and Garrulous made an odd hmphing sound. She looked pleased, though.

“You heard the man!” she declared, waving a hand just like he did on the show. “To the secondary command deck!”

“I’m surprised you don’t want to stay,” Ezra said, sounding amused.

Crowley made a face at him. “Space is nice, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”

____________________________

“How’re you doing?”

Anathema didn’t take her eyes off the screen, her arms straining with the effort of holding the controls steady. She could feel sweat rolling down her back, soaking into the back of his uniform. “I’d be doing better if Shadwell would get his ass in gear.”

Newt was bent over a screen nearby. “He’s a couple of corridors away.”

“What’s the plan?” she demanded through gritted teeth. “AJ?”

“Er…”

“We’ll need to find a clear landing site,” Newt said quickly. “If we can aim for the Tadfield area, there’s an abandoned airfield near the convention centre that’s due to be bulldozed for housing. I’m sure no one will mind if we land there.”

Anathema nodded, hissing between her teeth. “Newt, can you map Tadfield for me? Got my hands full.”

Newton leaned in over her shoulder, tapping at the screen with his long, skinny fingers. “I’m going to miss this.”

She laughed tightly. “Near-death or computers working?”

He laughed too, close to her ear. “Well, yes, that too.” He tapped at the screen. “Um.”

“Um?”

“It only goes as far in as the Tadfield area. I can’t pinpoint the field.”

“Crowley! Adam will be able mark it out for us! Do you still have your vox?”

“You’re better at explaining this stuff. Here! Catch!”

The hiss of the bridge doors were like music to her ears.

“We’re leaving, Shadders!” AJ exclaimed. “She’s meant to be with her crew.”

“The harlot’s comin’ with me,” Shadwell snapped.

“Oooh, Mr. Shadwell!”

Startled, Anathema twisted in her seat. The red-haired nun was draped all over the lipstick-smudged Shadwell and sweet Christ, there were some mental images you just didn’t need. The ship jolted and she tightened her grip.

“Guys! I need to move here!”

“Fine!” AJ groaned. “You can deal with all the mess of bringing an alien home! Ana, when you’re ready.”

She didn’t need to be told twice, letting the pull of the atmosphere take hold. “You’re gonna want to strap in.”

_____________________________________

The TV show lied, Newt realised, clinging onto his seat for dear life.

All right, yes, it showed people bouncing around a bit, but it didn’t give the impression of bone-jolting peas-in-a-can rattling that they were currently going through. Someone on the other side of the ship had been noisily sick and he wasn’t sure which was more likely: Mr. Fell or Mr. Shadwell.

“Ana!” The Captain’s voice was shuddering as much as they were. “You got Tadfield in your sights?”

Anathema nodded. She was shaking with effort, her hair plastered to her face in wet strings. “Got the co-ordinates locked. Where’s the field?”

“Adam?” Mr. Fell croaked.

“We lit a bonfire!” A child’s voice rang out through the vox.

“Ezra!” Anathema yelled in outrage. “That’s a _kid_.”

“He’s been very helpful!” Mr. Fell shouted back. “Look for the smoke!”

Newt squinted at the screen. And it turned out he really didn’t have to. The column of black smoke was pouring up into the sky. “There!”

“No shit!” Anathema swung the ship around, the descent going fast and sharp, greenish blurs coming into focus as tree and hedgerows and then buildings and houses and them, ahead of them, the long open stretch of the disused airfield right by the bustling convention centre.

Anathema had to bring them around in a wide loop to make the landing. A group of kids were frantically waving a bedsheet on a stick, standing near the bonfire. Beyond them, dozens of people were pouring out of the convention centre, pointing and waving.

“There’s your audience, dear!” Mr. Fell half-laughed, sounding more than a bit panicked.

“Shut it, angel!”

And Newt, despite everything that had happened, found himself grinning like an idiot as the ship carved into the field as if it was water.

_________________________________

They’d finally stopped moving, thank Heavens, though the ship had come to a halt at a 45 degree angle, leaving him tipping precariously sideways out of his chair. All the lights had gone out and only thin shafts of daylight were cutting through the spray of mud all over the viewing pane.

“Everyone all right?” Crowley called out.

“I’ve had worse,” Ezra called back, trying to find his feet, only to slip and sit back heavily again. “That road trip to Blackpool for one.”

There was a split-second of silence before the indignant, “Hey! I’m a fantastic driver!”

“Newton?” Ezra peered through the gloom. “Anathema? All in one piece.”

“Yeah!” Anathema sounded unsurprisingly shaky. “Can we get out of here?”

Behind Ezra, the bridge door hissed open and Shadwell and his… er… lady lead the way out. Newton helped Anathema after them, crabbing their way sideways towards the door, using the edge of the consoles as handrails.

“Up you get, angel,” Crowley leaned down over Ezra’s console, stretching down his hand. “You should be able to stand on your chair and climb up. It’s bolted down.”

It took a few attempts, but he finally managed to twist himself around and get enough room to haul his feet up onto the back of the chair. He caught Crowley’s wrist and together, they hauled him up over the top of his console. Getting from there to the door was much easier, using the frame of the Captain’s chair as guideline.

A yelp from behind the seat made him frown. “What on earth…” He released Crowley’s hand to lean down. “Oh no!”

“What?” Crowley asked, already picking his way on towards the door.

“The nuns left the little chap behind!” Ezra offered his hand under the chair. “Hello, little fellow. Don’t be scared.”

The six-legged little dog darted towards him, whimpering and he gingerly scooped it up.

“No.” Crowley said at once. “No.”

Ezra rolled his eyes up at him. “Someone has to look after it!” He carried it towards the door, the little beast licking his face with its sandpaper tongue, its stubby tail thumping against his arm. “And it’s only a little one.”

Crowley retreated along the slanting corridor. “Uh huh. Right. Still no.”

Ezra stumbled after him, bracing a hand on the wall as he went. “Maybe Newton would like it. It seems friendly enough. Or Shadwell’s friend.”

“Yes!” Crowley looked relieved. “As long as I don’t have to see it or deal with it.” He braced his shoulder in the door, offering a hand down to haul Ezra up. “Almost there. End of this corridor and we’re out.”

The daylight was dazzling and Crowley shooed him ahead, both of them skittering and rattling along the wall and floor until he spilled out and onto the muddy, churned up field.

“Doctor Nephili Angel! That’s right! It’s Ezra Fell!”

A roar of sound hit him and Ezra straightened up in surprise.

The edge of the field was lined with people, clapping and cheering, some of them in costumes, others in themed t-shirts. People from the convention, he realised, who had just seen a genuine space-ship land on the field. And at the front, bed-sheet-flag propped like a pennant, Adam and his friends beamed at him.

“And here he is!” Someone was roaring through a megaphone, “The Captain of the Galaxy Quest himself! Captain Tobit, our favourite! Anthony J Crowley!”

Ezra wheeled around to see Crowley stagger out of the ship, instantly take in what the hell was going on, and drawing on his showman smile as easily as breathing. He threw his arms wide, striding forward, and made a sweeping, ridiculous bow.

Which made the screams and yells of panic all the more surprising.

“Behind you!” Adam yelled.

Ezra spun to see what they meant.

Carmine was crawling out of the ship, bloody and snarling and armed.

“Crowley!” Ezra dropped the dog to the ground and unhooked the lazer sword from his belt, tossing it.

Crowley snatched it out of the air and spun with balletic grace, the blade hissing to life. He lunged at Carmine just as a feral ball of black and white fur shot passed him and latched onto her ankles.

“Good dog!” Ezra shouted in delight as Carmine yelled and tried to shake him off.

It gave Crowley the opening to lunge and the blade sheared through her gun.

The explosion was tremendous, throwing Crowley on his back in the mud and sending the dog tumbling over and over beside him. What was left of Carmine – thankfully – was blasted back into the ship, leaving only a tell-tale smear of red on the doorway.

Ezra rushed to his side, stepping over Adam who had dropped to his knees beside the dog, and slid a hand under Crowley’s neck. “Are you all right, darling?”

Crowley grinned woozily up at him. “Knew you liked me.”

“Oh do shut up,” Ezra grumbled and kissed him.

It took a few moments for the whooping and cheers to reach them and when they did, Ezra blushed hotly, scrambling to his feet and hauling Crowley up.

“You… um… you should take your bows.”

Crowley’s grin only widened and he caught Ezra’s hand. “ _Our_ bows,” he said, stepping forward and lifting their joined hands. With his other hand, he motioned the rest of their crew forward, beaming from ear to ear.

The cheers rose in volume and Ezra couldn’t help smiling until his cheeks hurt.

At the front of the crowd, Adam and his friends were cooing over the ball of fur that had helped save Crowley and the dog-like thing was wriggling happily in their grasp.

“All’s well that ends well, eh?” Crowley murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

“Mr. Crowley!” The convention chap with the megaphone shouted. “How on earth did you do this?”

Crowley blinked at him and Ezra couldn’t help himself.

“I think you’ll find,” he shouted as loud as he could, “It’s Ineffable.”

The hum of delight rose to a roar and Ezra flashed a grin at Crowley who was shaking his head and laughing.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Crowley bellowed to the crowd, hoisting up their joined hands. “The cast of To The Stars!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue next week :)


	14. Epilogue

“Sugar, dear? Or just black?”

Crowley tilted his head to peer over at Ezra, who was puttering in the kitchenette of the trailer. “You know we have people who’ll do that for us now,” he said.

Ezra gave him that look, the carefully contained smile that said he agreed, but would never admit such a thing out loud. “If you imagine I’m going to allow some runner or other to attempt to make a decent cup of Earl Grey, I’m afraid you have another thing coming.”

“Snob,” Crowley chuckled, sitting up on the couch.

“Particular,” Aziraphale corrected with a haughty sniff. “Black or sugar?”

“Black’ll do for the first read. I can get something stronger and sweeter later.”

Ezra returned to sit beside him on the couch, setting the mug of coffee down on the coaster in front of him. “This all feels oddly familiar, doesn’t it? As if we’ve never really been away.”

And it was. A bit fancier, true, but there were familiar faces: the old production crew who had been headhunted to come back and work their magic on the reboot. Their stunt with the spaceship had got them picked up by a better network with a bigger and more generous budget.

Even Agnes had agreed to pop in for an occasional cameo, though her character’s position had been filled by the one person who knew the show better than any of them. At the relaunch, she informed all and sundry that she was delighted that at least one Pulsifer would treat the show with the respect it deserved.

“Yeah,” Crowley snatched up the mug and leaned back comfortably, then casually hooked his leg over Ezra’s knee. “Although you wouldn’t’ve let me do this before.”

Ezra’s cheeks pinked. “Or have done this,” he said and very deliberate curled his broad hand over Crowley’s thigh, intimately high.

At once, Crowley knew he’d gone as red as the bloody angel. “You bastard,” he said happily.

“Mm.” Ezra smiled serenely. “Perhaps a little.” He settled back on the couch too, cradling his mug between his hands. “I’m glad you waited. For me, I mean. I know I’ve been… quite slow catching up.”

Crowley shrugged expressively. “Good things to those who wait,” he said, then licked his teeth before adding, “but if I knew abducting you to space and getting you back in the saddle was the way to do it, I’d’ve done it years ago.”

“Crowley!” Ezra laughed and smacked him on the thigh.

Crowley couldn’t help the stupid soft idiotic smile that spread across his face. “Glad you’re here with me, angel. Wouldn’t be the same show without you.”

Ezra leaned in and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “Of course it wouldn’t,” he said, “after all, I _did_ do Hamlet, you know.”

Crowley pulled him back for another kiss. “You absolute bastard.”

“No,” Ezra corrected, smiling into the kiss. “ _Your_ absolute bastard.”


End file.
